The Yang To My Yin
by BreakingFree2015
Summary: Modern AU. In an effort to live a normal life, Gwen, an artistic, sweet girl who is recovering from leukemia reluctantly enrolls in Secondary School. She relies on the support of her adopted brother, Merlin, as she attempts to navigate her way among the "normal" teenagers, and her quickly-made, new best friend- the charismatic Morgana, who hides a painful home life.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Hello, people! Welcome to this new story, which will be based around the friendships and relationships of Merlin, Gwen, Arthur and Morgana. This is not a slash fic and it focuses more on the friendship of Morgana and Gwen than on that of Arthur and Merlin. The feminist side of me thinks that it's a crime that a lot of us do not stop to appreciate the fact that the BBC gave us two strong female leads (quite rare for them). The story alternates between Gwen and Morgana's point of view.**

**Gwen**:

"Why am I doing this?"

The question circulated my mind with a relentless intensity, growing hungrier for an answer with every step I took. I tried to remember all the reasons Merlin, my adopted brother, had given Mum to convince her to allow me to do this, in an attempt to calm myself. The irony of the fact that I was now trying to use these same arguments to convince _**myself **_that I wasn't about to step into the worst thing to hit the planet since global warming was not lost on me.

_Why am I doing this?_

The confusion and nerves I had been feeling all throughout my sleepless night escalated into full blown-out panic as we reached the looming, formidable gate and I grabbed onto my brother's arm to prevent him from taking me further. Like always, he knew what was on my mind.

"Come on, Gwen," he peered down at me pleadingly. "This will be good for you, I know it will. You've always wanted to do this remember?" At my insistent shake of the head, he smiled wryly. "Trust me-this is so much better than staying at home all day, doing nothing." When I still did not appear convinced, he sighed and put his arm comfortingly around my shoulder. "Just try today. If, when we go home, you decide you'd rather eat horse dung than step foot in this school again, then you can quit. But I went through hell and back to convince Mum and Dad to let you do this and you sure as heck are not backing out on me now." He nudged me playfully, imploring me with his bright eyes to be brave, just this once.

"See now, this is why I've been saying that I feel like it's time for us to limit your exposure to Teen Wolf," I muttered.

"Gwen, I love you, and I get that you're feeling stressed right now, but you **_know_ **you should never ever, _**ever** _take that tone with Teen Wolf. Teen Wolf is not just any old program, _**thank you very much**_, it's dark and gripping and relatable and heart-wrenching and-" here he paused in his vigour, realising that I had succeeded in distracting him from the matter at hand.

Let me explain-long story short, two months ago I decided (please note that I was half asleep at the time and therefore should not be held accountable for this horrendous decision) that I wanted some semblance of a normal life and- after a particularly long Disney film marathon- I concluded that going to school would play an essential part in this plan. Then, at two in the morning, drunk on countless new-girl-gets-fittest-boy-in-school repetitive love stories, I decided to announce my ambition to my favourite person in the entire world: Merlin. He in turn, despite my best attempts at sabotage when I'd finally returned to my senses, proceeded to convince my parents to make me attend an entire year in my worst nightmare- a place filled with normal teenagers.

This _fascinating _turn of events in my life led me to this moment, shaking like a leaf on steroids, while Merlin dragged me through the gates of hell and into the front office. The artist in me immediately grimaced at the orange door that was being paired with garishly pink walls. I mean, seriously, how on Earth did they expect students here to learn with such a poor colour scheme around to torture them? Priorities needed to be straightened out here, I determined. However, one look at the man behind the desk told me that I would be dancing naked in Trafalgar Square before I would be voicing my opinion to him, so I kept my mouth shut- not a difficult task since I tended to do that most of the time anyway.

The man glanced over me critically and I grimaced when the long-familiar look of pity washed over his face. I prided myself on being able to read expressions well, and the look of pity was coupled with another old friend: discomfort. I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. It was all the same. People rarely ventured out of their own self-immersed bubbles, and so not many knew how to act around people who made them realise that there were others out there who had received a worse lot in life. I was now used to the unease wafted at me when people were around me, and the fact that from the moment of our meeting, people no longer regarded me as _one of us, _and so treated me accordingly.

While I was staring at a particularly enthusiastic wart on the secretary's nose- Mr Patty, was it?- and pondering with a small amount of sick satisfaction how close a resemblance I could achieve with my sketchbook and best green pencil, Merlin, as always, was handling all the actual interaction. I hadn't even realised that the conversation was over- gloriously without me uttering a single world- and that my timetable was now clutched in his grasp. My eyes zeroed in on the words "Monday, period 1: Biology," and a groan escaped my lips. Staying at home all day and doing nothing, was starting to sound better and better.

Merlin smiled, noting my annoyance. "Welcome to Stanford Hill, sunshine. Be glad, I have double Physics."

"But you love Science," I replied, irritated. "Double Physics won't exactly be a hardship for you."

"You haven't met Mrs Devils yet. Let's just say that the lady is aptly named."

I shook my head with a smile, my first real one of the day. My brother had always had the ability to make me smile, and annoying as it was sometimes, I was immensely grateful for it now. We came to a stop outside another door- again with that God-awful orange- and he span around to face me, placing his hands on my shoulders. "Gwenny," he began. "I know you're worried, and yeah, I'm not going to lie, everyone's probably going to be weird around you at first. In fact, most people might not talk to you at all, and others will probably stare way too much-"

"Sorry, is this supposed to make me feel better?" I interrupted. Because if so, I wanted to retract my earlier statement about his ability to make me smile. "Let me finish," he grumbled and I suppressed a smirk at his impatience. "_What I was going to say_ was that, after a while, the hype will calm down and everyone will realise what a cool kid you are. Don't be ashamed, Gwen, and don't try to hide who you are. If they're rude, ignore them, they're twats. Plus, I'll beat them up," he finished, winking goofily. I rolled my eyes. One Summer at the gym and suddenly he was under the ludicrous impression that he was The Hulk's doppelganger. Growing serious he added, "you may even make some real friends here, you know."

I nodded, unsure of how to reply. A small window in the door subjected me to my- peers? Schoolmates? Future tormentors?- and fear returned and increased tenfold. How on earth was I supposed to do this? There had to be a fire alarm or something around here that I could use to my advantage. Or perhaps I could (_accidentally, of course_) overflow one of the ladies' toilets. Health and safety would most definitely require everyone to go home- and preferably never come back. That would be good...  
A slight shove from Merlin brought me back to reality and I stumbled through the door he had just opened. I rubbed my shoulder out of habit, wondering if I would still find the familiar blue marks of bruises there.

"Sorry to disrupt, Sir, I'm just here to drop my sister, Gwen, off. She's new and she has your class first period." Merlin's voice floated in behind me. The middle aged, short teacher in front of me turned around and sized me up with shrewd eyes. He gave Merlin an affectionate nod of dismissal and so, with a comforting touch to my back, the only person I trusted in this room walked out, leaving me feeling like an animal in a cage. I bit down on my lip to keep from crying out in protest- even I knew that was socially unacceptable- and instead kept my eyes trained on the curiously scuffed loafers of my new Biology teacher.

"Welcome to Stanford Hill, Gwen. My name is Mr Gaius. We've just started so you haven't missed much, although I am afraid we now have an odd number so you will have to sit by yourself." His eyes twinkled as he said this, as though he knew that this would not exactly be a burden for me. I sighed, inwardly bemoaning my social awkwardness, and made my way to the seat he had pointed out. On the way there- the distance between myself and the seemingly harmless wooden chair felt endless- I noted how quickly all the students averted their eyes as I passed and I repressed another sigh. It was starting to look like fighting cancer would be a piece of cake compared to state school.

**A/N: Well there you have it! Do not be put off by the smatterings of angst and lack of dialogue in this chapter, as it was all about setting up the premise of the situation and Gwen's shy but slightly inwardly sassy character. Next chapter we meet the bubbly and charming Morgana, who's hiding a very painful secret. Please review!**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Just a quick note to say that I have changed some things from the Merlin canon. In my story, Morgana and Arthur are not brother and sister, and it is while giving birth to Morgana that Igraine died, leaving Uther heartbroken. Morgause is also just her friend in this story (and not evil).**

**Morgana:**

I stepped over my father's unconscious, splayed body, sighing as I collected the mess of bottles that had formed a fortress around him as silently as I could. I noted that Katrina's body was not next to him, biting back a groan at the thought that perhaps they had had an argument. He was always worse when they argued. As I left the house, I sent a quick plea to God to look after him and make him calmer when I came home from school that day, instantly feeling shamefully safer as the door slammed shut behind me.

"Game face, baby, game face," I muttered to myself as I approached the bus stop. The woman on the bench gave me a wary look as I sat next to her, and I responded with my best smile. This sent the poor lady into a state of confusion- this was not the kind of neighbourhood where strangers smiled at each other- and I (inwardly) chuckled, allowing the smile to keep its home on my face.

* * *

I was still smiling when I made my way to the familiar classroom at the end of the corridor on the fourth floor, feeling the tension escape my shoulders with every step.

"Whaddup, homies!" I crowed as soon as I entered the room, almost giddily. A weekend was too long.

"We _seriously_****have to limit how many hours you spend watching The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air, Snow White, this shit needs to stay on the inside." My friend Arthur, even when he was arrogantly critiquing me, was one of the best people I had ever met (despite his superiority complex) and so I refrained from punching him and settled for a wink instead. "Oh don't be such a killjoy," I responded, smiling serenely. "Mithian thinks it's adorable when I think I'm ghetto, right Mith?" I turned to one of my closest girlfriends expectantly.

"Sorry, Morgana," she replied, grinning. "I'm going to have to agree with Officer Krupke, here. You're so pale you reflect sunlight. We need to adjust your language accordingly." I mock scowled, ruining the effect by linking my arm through hers.

"Why can't you people just let me have my words, yooo?" I drawled, pouting like an idiot.

She proceeded to pat me on the shoulder comfortingly, albeit not without chuckling, causing Arthur to slap his hand over her mouth. "Don't encourage her stupidity," he hissed, eyes sparkling with (what my ego insisted was) suppressed amusement. I opened my mouth to retort, when the bell rang, cutting me off. I groaned and waved at everyone that I hadn't had a chance to greet before dragging Mithian and my other formidable best friend, Morgause, to our form room.

"So did you hear about the new girl?" Morgause asked, pulling us to a halt in the corridor and raising her scarily crisp eyebrows.

"Yeah, but I haven't seen her yet," Mithian replied, turning to face her.

"Neither have I, ugh, I really want to meet her!"

"I know, we haven't had a new girl in _ages_**_,_** it's just been boys, boys, boys. They're probably conscripting them, I swear to God."

"Personally, I don't think I'd have a problem with that_, _to be honest_," _Morgause countered, waggling her eyebrows.

"Wait, wait, wait," I interrupted. "Pull on the reigns and hold your horses for just a moment, what new girl?"

"I think we also need to limit her exposure to country music. She just has no self control," Morgause told Mithian, who made an approving sound in response.

"Whatever," I retorted, momentarily forgetting what we were talking about, as we began walking to class again. "Haters are my motivators."

Mithian ignored this completely. "Morgana, seriously," she began. "Do you live under a rock? How could you not know that we were getting a new girl? It's all everyone's been talking about for the last week at _least_." I smiled wryly at the irony of how accurate her description was of my home, although she would never know that.

"Alright, alright Ms Condescending. You should just marry Arthur and have a family of stuck-up know-it-alls," I replied, rolling my eyes. "One kid can be called Snob and the other can be called Snooty. I can already picture the Christmas cards."

"I like it," Morgause offered, raising her hand.

"Whatever," Mithian said, failing to come up with an adequate response. I smirked in victory, walking into the form room where Mrs Nowella was already reading the morning announcements.

"_Late_, girls," she scolded, glancing over her glasses at us sternly.

I gave her my most innocent smile. "I'm very sorry, Mrs Nowella. It won't happen again, I promise."

"I should hope so," she grumbled but waved her hand towards the seats, indicating we could sit down without punishment.

"Un-fucking-believable," Morgause muttered. "If I'd said that, she would've told me to shut up and join her in detention."

I laughed quietly and whispered back, "what can I say? When you got it, you got it. And when you don't, you get detention." I jumped to avoid her incoming slap and sped to my seat, cackling.

"Hey, Morgana," I looked up to find Elyan Utah sat twisted in his seat in front of me, smiling. I smiled back, while rummaging through my bag for some kind of edible sustenance.

"Hey, Elyan, good weekend?" I pounced on the bag which I knew held a chocolate doughnut in it. God bless Aldi and their gloriously under-priced bakery.

"It was okay, I guess. Adrian's party was really good, though- you missed a banger. Why didn't you go?" He asked, frowning.

"Really good, huh?" I ignored the question I had no way of answering truthfully. "I guess someone got some action." I teased, causing him to turn an interesting shade of maroon that someone as tanned as his West African self should have never been able to reach, and splutter "what? N-NO, of course not! I didn't, I _swear_-I'm single."

I laughed, attractively spraying doughnut crumbs everywhere. "Chill, love. I was just messing with you." I said, still chuckling slightly.

"I'm not doing anything with anyone, Morgana." He replied, looking at me carefully.

"_Obvious_, much?" Mithian mumbled under her breath, so that only I could hear. I shot her a glare. I had told her-and indeed many other jeering friends- countless times that Elyan's chattiness did not mean he liked me like _that__. _Couldn't a boy just talk to a girl without people assuming things? I thought people had moved past making ignorant judgments when, oh I don't know, the twenty-first _century_ had come around?

My inner rant was interrupted by Mrs Nowella's dismissal of the class.

"I need some books from my locker," I told the two girls at my desk. "See you second period."

My route there, however, was waylaid by a mass slamming into me and tackling me to the ground.

"Hey baby!" A female voice crowed cheerfully in my ear. "Guess what you have now? A _whole_****hour in Chemistry with yours truly. Please try to contain your tears of happiness as we are in a public place and I don't want you to scare the children."

**Panic, fear, **_**him. **_I ferociously fought to get my breathing under control, fighting off the onslaught of emotions and stubborn ringing in my ears, reminding myself that this was Elena**_, _**_Elena_ my _friend_, and that she wouldn't hurt me. The conflicting feelings warred within my veins as I desperately struggled to compose myself, managing after what felt like hours but was most likely only a few minutes, to offer her a weak smile, anxious to play the role I knew so well. Thankfully, Elena was oblivious to my struggle, wittering on about the new girl. Although I hadn't heard a word- which was a shame as I still didn't know anything about this mysterious new student- I nodded and smiled, agreeing with God-knows-what.

I sent her to the laboratory ahead of me with strict orders to get the best seats (at the back, by the door) before approaching the object that never failed to frustrate me- my locker. You see, in an effort to appear richer and more "hip" (their words, not mine), Stanford Hill had invested in newer, more modern and therefore more complicated lockers. Gone were the simple lock-and-keys of the good 'ole days, and in their greatly missed places were the torture contraptions known as combination dials. I stared at my own dial, aggravated that a simple four-digit number could avoid my memory so thoroughly.

The locker next to me slammed shut and an amused voice stated "4683." I turned happily to the miracle that was Gwaine o' Conner and smiled gratefully, not even bothering to be embarrassed at what had now become a regular occurrence- I would forget my combination and Gwaine-with-the-Mane (best hair _ever_) would remind me. Without him, I'd be a book-less wreck. "Thanks, G-Dawg," I said cheerfully while stowing my now accessible Chemistry book into my bag. Of course, I should've known that there was no way he would just leave it there. Gwaine never passed up an opportunity to take the piss.

"_Really_, Morgana," he began. "It never ceases to _amaze_****me how you can memorise entire chunks of a textbook without even breaking a sweat, and yet you seem to have met your downfall with 4 measly numbers. I mean, really, you'd think that at the very least you could-"

"Goodbye, Gwaine," I interrupted loudly, walking away as his laughter filled the background.

* * *

Four lessons later found me walking out of a French lesson, fully prepared to shove a sandwich down my throat before I died of starvation. Unfortunately, luck did not seem to be on my side today, as I was soon accosted by Arthur and the rest of our friends.

"So, have you found a suitable fashion editor, yet?" He asked, falling into step with me. "You told Leon you'd have one by the meeting this lunchtime."

"No, no, **_no_**," I moaned, suddenly remembering. "I completely forgot. I didn't even begin to start looking, Leon's going to _slaughter_****me!"

"Just do what I do," came a girl's voice behind me. "And he won't be angry at all. Trust me. A girl knows."

I laughed but didn't turn around, calling back "I appreciate the words of wisdom, Viv, but I'm not sleeping with him. I think I'll go with a different game plan."

"Your loss," came the grumbled reply and I shared a smile with Arthur. Vivian was known for being a little, well, _promiscuous__, _which made her unpopular with a lot of the female population of Stanford Hill-particularly those who had boyfriends- but we both adored her.

"You could just sign yourself up to be fashion editor," Mithian suggested, linking her arm through mine.

"Are you kidding me? Morgana already works harder than an elephant in labour. If she does any more, she'll collapse faster than you did when I cut my finger yesterday," Morgause argued, her maternal instincts kicking in.

"Oh shut up," Mithian huffed. "you know I hate blood-"

"Don't you want to be a doctor?" Arthur interrupted, sounding confused.

Instead of answering, Mithian looked at me and jerked her head back to the door of the sixth form building. "Look who's here," she grinned.

I looked in the direction she had indicated and felt all the conversation fade into the background. Standing outside the building, leaning on the door and talking to someone inside, was the most beautiful creature to walk this Earth since Jesus himself: Merlin Ambrose. Looking at him was like looking at chocolate cupcakes, or a sunny morning after a month of rain, or the cracked cover of your favourite book. Despite my disgust at being such a Disney movie heroine, there was something about Merlin Ambrose that never failed to turn me into an unintelligible moron, without him even uttering a single word. He was 18, so we didn't have any classes together and we didn't share any mutual friends, but the fact that we'd barely spoken was irrelevant. The gang joked and teased me about him mercilessly, to the point of driving me insane, but I couldn't help it- there was something about him which _called_****to me.

Ignoring the conversation around me, I inched closer to where he stood, ready to get my "Merlin-fix-of-the-day," as Morgause so affectionately dubbed it. In a way, I was grateful that I did not know him. Because we never spoke, my feelings limited themselves to an innocent crush- harmless and uncomplicated- which was necessary, as my situation demanded that it never became more. Nevertheless, I let a sigh escape my lips when he flashed the lucky person he was talking to his bright smile. Smiles as crinkly and dimply as his should be illegal; they could not be healthy for innocent bystanders (i.e. me).

Feeling curious, I craned my head to glimpse the aforementioned lucky person and my heart staggered to a halt in my chest. For once in my life, someone, or rather __some_thing_had distracted me from Merlin Ambrose. That something rested on the feet of the person he was talking to- feet which were encased in none other than _Lauren Taylors_. And not just any Lauren Taylors; the newest, slinkiest _orgasmic_****Lauren Taylors, the only shoe I could pick out in a room full of designer brands.

It was like all my prayers had been answered-perhaps I could swing it so that Leon wouldn't have to kill me after all. These were shoes that only belonged to the insanely rich or the insanely beautiful- and always the insanely fashionable; never mind how important they were to _me_**_, _**and I felt my lips pull up into a grin as the relief hit me full-force. If it were any other pair of shoes, and I hadn't been so desperate, I might have noticed the caramel, tightly stretched skin of the frail-looking owner, or the bandana that clearly indicated a bare head, or the stooped and shy stance she was adopting. However, in my state of intense relief, all this escaped me as I whispered a quick thank you to the powers above and made my way determinedly towards my saviour.

**A/N: And there we have Morgana! Thank you to everyone who has reviewed.**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Thank you to everyone who has been reading, following, favouriting and reviewing this story. I am immensely grateful. I was asked to state the ages of all the characters, and so just to clarify: all the characters introduced so far, apart from Gwaine and Merlin, are 16. Gwaine is 17, and Merlin, Leon and Lancelot (who will later be introduced) are 18. Hope that clears things up!  
**

**Gwen:**

You know how everyone always tells you that the best things in life can come out of what you think will be the worst? It's all lies_. _Lies, lies, _lies_. This entire day had been exactly what I was expecting it to be: absolute hell. I could have handled the fact that no one would ever speak to me (in fact, I was almost hoping for it) if it wasn't for all the _staring. _Hadn't anyone at this school been taught that it was rude to stare constantly **without ceasing**? And it didn't help that I'd already covered most of the curriculum in my lessons at home, because I didn't even have the work to distract me from the pitying gazes and sidelong glances. The teachers weren't much better either; I was either treated like one stern word would break me or I was just ignored altogether. I really didn't want to disappoint Merlin but I couldn't fathom how I could possibly get through an entire year of this.

The bell rang for lunchtime and I breathed a sigh of relief. I didn't want to bother Merlin because he would most likely be with the close circle of "lads" he surrounded himself with but I needed him to make me feel better, so I could get through the afternoon without having a nervous breakdown. On the way there, I bypassed a gaggle of students in my year. I had seen some of them in my classes and I instantly knew that they were all typical, easy going, self-assured teenagers. Right in the middle of the group- there were about eight of them- was a girl who instantly caught my eye and made my heart clench in jealousy. The emotion didn't come from the fact that she was _so _beautiful it was unfair, or that she seemed to have no problems being in the spotlight, or that she was chatting animatedly to several equally-gorgeous people, as though she didn't have a care in the world. It came from the long, curly hair that cascaded down her back in a waterfall of ebony black. It was the kind of hair that made people stop and stare, that couldn't be achieved artificially, that made the made the most striking model look plain in comparison. It was the kind of hair that I used to have before the treatment completely destroyed it. I felt like I had been punched in the gut and I renewed my search for Merlin with vigour, blinking back silly tears of nostalgia. It was like looking at the life I could have had if I were normal, and I couldn't stand the reminder.

I found Merlin in the sixth form building- I had permission to go in whenever I needed to, thanks to him batting his eyelashes and pulling some strings- where he was talking to a leggy blonde who was all over him. Not wanting to disturb, I made to turn away but I moved too slowly and he was by my side in a second. "How are you?" He asked, softly. "Has it been okay?"

I surprised both of us by bursting into tears and naming the worry that came from my shameful, inner little girl. "No one wants to talk to me," I sniffed, sounding like a stupid child even to my own ears. "All they do is stare and stare and I hate it!"

"Hey, hey, hey, it's okay, honey," Merlin soothed, wrapping an arm around my shoulders. "Just give them time to get over the shock. They'll get over it soon enough and then they'll be all over you. Just give it some time."

"I don't think I can," I argued, wiping my eyes. "I don't think I can bear-"

"You can and you will," he interrupted firmly, his blue eyes flashing. "If you can get through bloody cancer and still come out strong, this will be a walk in the park. You're tougher than you give yourself credit for, Gwen. You can do this." I nodded, not knowing what to say. "You're an Ambrose," Merlin grinned. "We never give up."

"Oh, jeez," I rolled my eyes, hiding the secret thrill of joy that still coursed through me after all this time, whenever I heard Merlin refer to himself as part of my family. He'd come such a long way from the shy, small boy who wouldn't even look me in the eyes. "Are we going to start singing Kumbayah now?"

Merlin laughed. "Just keeping it real, Gwenny!"

I opened my mouth to retort when a girl's voice swam in from outside the door. "Excuse me?" I walked out to where Merlin was standing and came face to face with the girl with the glorious hair. Figuring she must be one of Merlin's admirers, I averted my eyes and waited for the exchange to be over. However, to my surprise, the girl began to address me with an excited smile. "Hi!" She grinned at me. She was practically vibrating with energy where she stood. "I know you don't know me, and this might be really weird, but are those the new Lauren Taylors?" My mouth dropped open in shock. What? She wanted to ask about my shoes?

I stumbled around my shyness. "Um, yeah. I didn't think many people knew about her." She gave me a look I hadn't received in a long, long time- one of jealousy and I smirked inwardly at the irony.

"You're so lucky," she breathed, reverently. "Those shoes are gifts from God himself. I would sell my soul for a pair. Well-not really, because that's creepy, but you know what I mean..." She continued to ramble on about the possible advantages and ramifications of selling one's soul and I let out a small chuckle. I didn't mind. For some reason, I wanted this girl to keep talking to me. "I'm Morgana, by the way," she offered, still smiling.

I couldn't help but return it. "Gwen."

"Well, Gwen, basically, I'm in a bit of a pickle at the moment," she began. "I'm supposed to bring a new fashion editor to the magazine meeting today, but I completely forgot. I know you're new, so this is probably freaking you out, and you probably want to get settled down first before you join any clubs and whatnot but if you have shoes like those babies you clearly know what you're doing, and would make a banging fashion editor, therefore allowing me to keep my head attached to my neck for just a little while longer. Can you do it?" She said this all very quickly, without stopping to breathe.

It was my turn to be a "starer," and I looked at her, dumbfounded. Was she being serious? If this were a joke...

"Please say yes, please say yes, please say yes," she chanted over and over, bouncing up and down on the balls of her feet. Merlin chuckled, and gave me a slight push, indicating his silent approval. "I'll love you forever and ever," she added, still jumping up and down, like a toddler begging for a sweet. I smiled shyly and nodded my consent, and she let out a squeal of delight, accompanied with a little happy dance. She seemed oblivious to the looks she was receiving, and I sighed, wishing I could be as carefree. "Thank you, thank you, thank you!" She gushed, dragging me along with her with a refreshing urgency that no had used since before the cancer. I turned back and cheesed at Merlin who gave me a thumbs up and a smugly mouthed "I told you so."

Soon we came to a halt outside a computer room. "You ready for this, amigo?" She asked, waggling her eyebrows.

"Lead the way," I replied, my stomach churning. We walked into the room together, where a serious-faced boy who looked about my brother's age swooped down on us. "You're late," he said pointedly to Morgana, frowning. I shrank back at his expression but it didn't seem to faze Morgana at all.

"You say that like it's something new, Leon," she responded breezily. "Just be glad I didn't go and eat first. And look! I found a fashion editor, just like you asked. This is Gwen. Please hold the applause."

The corners of Leon's mouth twitched into a hint of a smile , making him seem a lot friendlier and he turned his clever grey eyes onto me, stopping briefly at the bandanna on my head. "Alright, set her up," he instructed before walking out of the room.

"Guys, look, we have a new team member!" Morgana announced happily. There was a tense silence while the population of the room stared at me, not knowing what to say. I grimaced, reminding myself that not many people reacted to me the way Morgana had. It was funny how only a few minutes with her had made me forget the stigma which had plagued me for six years.

"Um, guys?" She said questioningly. "It's cancer, not social retardation. She can still talk."

I laughed. Loudly. This girl was just something else, although from the confused looks I was receiving, I guessed that laughter wasn't the expected response. Nevertheless, the comment succeeded in breaking the ice a little and everyone began to relax- some even threw me smiles. I beamed, excited that the blank stares which had followed me around all day were finally being replaced with more welcoming expressions.

"Please excuse her," a tall boy, with a mop of golden hair, called out from the desk he was sitting on. "We're still carrying out an extensive search for the missing part of her brain. The rest of us are a lot nicer, promise." I laughed again, shocked at the amount of times I had done that today, while Morgana grumbled back at him. The room chuckled at their bickering-apparently this was a usual occurrence. "I'm Arthur," he extended to me, smiling.

His blue eyes twinkled at me as I smiled back, vaguely aware that my breath had caught in my throat as I did so. "Gwen," I offered, before drifting off after Morgana. I watched as everyone offered warm greetings to her and polite introductions to me. It was clear from the fondness in all their eyes that Morgana was well loved here and I squashed down on the jealousy that was threatening to run rampant in my chest. Was there anything this girl didn't have?

She led me to a computer next to a boy who was already furiously typing away. "Gwen, this is Jean Pierre, Jean Pierre this is Gwen, our new fashion editor." Jean Pierre flashed me a quick, polite grin before turning back to Morgana. I hid a smile; the boy clearly had it bad but she seemed to be oblivious.

"I really hate that you pronounce my name so incorrectly," he teased, his voice lilting in a slight French accent.

"I pronounce it fine,"

"No, no, Morgana, you pronounce it British. Does the name Jean Pierre sound British to you?"

"Okay then," she sat up straight and turned to face him. "Gwen, back me up if he tries to mess with me. How should I pronounce it?"

"Well, for one, an educated speaker would not pronounce the last letter of the word-"

"Seems a bit rude to that last letter,"

"-focus, Morgana. The name is not John, it's _Jean_. Open your mouth-"

"A fly will get in."

"Was that meant to be funny? You also need to make your "r"s more throaty for the Pierre-"

"Clearly I'll only be able to pronounce your name when I have the flu if you want me to produce that much phlegm."

"You're so difficult!" He cried, holding his hands out in amused exasperation. I noted the playful twinkle in Morgana's eye. Perhaps she reciprocated his affections? "Aren't you averaging an A* in French?"

"Yes, I am, because examiners aren't fussy teenagers who care if I "open my mouth" or bring up enough phlegm to fill a bucket."

I watched the exchange with interest, and feeling brave, decided to add my two cents. "How about you just call him JP? That's a common enough nickname for Jean-Pierre, right?"

"See, Morgana. Gwen pronounces it perfectly," the boy nodded at me approvingly.

"Traitor," she shot at me playfully. " But I like JP, it's cute." He glowed at her words and I again had to suppress a smile at his barely concealed adoration.

"Morgana, I hope for once in your life you're actually going to do what I tell you to instead of messing around. I told you to set up our new fashion editor fifteen minutes ago and you haven't even logged on yet," came the formidable tones of the boy who had been at the door; Leon.

"Oh, lighten up," Morgana tossed behind her shoulder. "Don't get your knickers in a twist." She turned to me and explained "that's Leon, our magazine editor. He's a little uptight about schedules and whatnot, as you can see." I nodded. Indeed I did see.

"Okay, so I don't want to give you any pressure, but it took a lot of coaxing and whining and pestering to get Leon to allow this," she said, looking at me earnestly. "It's up to you what you want the article to be on. You can keep the same format, or you can change it every week, you can do it on celebrity fashion, you can do it on local fashion; it's completely up to you. Oh, and don't think you need to start now, your article isn't even due until next Wednesday. Let me just go and get your computer login information." She then got up to leave and I mulled over her words- and the impressive manner in which she had yet again said them all in one breath- and started to feel excited. As an amateur artist, I loved anything visually creative. To me, fashion was a way of life. I loved, loved, _loved _clothes, and that sense of satisfaction when a crazy-good outfit is put together. I couldn't wait to get started on these articles.

"Here you go," Morgana returned, passing me a piece of paper. As I started to obediently type out all the information into the computer, she turned hers off completely and turned to address me.

"So, here's an ice breaker I've never used before. What type of cancer do you have?"

I stared at her in shock, stunned by her bluntness while she regarded me calmly. "Um, well, I'm actually in remission but Acute Promyelocytic Leukemia."

Her green eyes grew impossibly bigger and she whistled under her breath. "Oh, boy. You'd think if someone had cancer that the doctors would give them a break and at least give said cancer an easier name. I'd assume cancer patients have enough to deal with without learning that mouthful."

I laughed louder than the joke merited, ecstatic at the casual way we were discussing something people normally tip-toed on eggshells about, terrified of upsetting me. "Well, what can you do," I replied, grinning. "You win some, you lose some. At least it makes me sound super smart and knowledgeable and whatnot. I like to use it to wow people on the rare occasion that my winning smile fails to do so."

Morgana threw back her head and let out a loud peal of laughter. My heart soared.

"I like you," she proclaimed. "You're funny _and _you have cute shoes. A hard combination to come by."

"I live to please," I quipped, struggling to contain my inner excitement about the thought of gaining a friend. It would be just my luck for her to drop me when she realised my chronic lameness.

"Your top's lovely too, is that silk?" She asked, fingering the sleeve. The wistful look in her eye did not escape my notice and I briefly wondered if this beautiful girl owned any silk. My artist's eye had noticed that her clothes were not the stereotypical "popular girl clothes." There were no brands, designer labels or gaudy patterns but she made her simple jeans and jumper look beautiful regardless, and I swallowed back my curiosity.

"Yeah, it is. It's one of the only items of clothing my dad has ever brought me that doesn't look like it came from the set of a bad 80's sitcom," I replied, rolling my eyes. I loved my dad with all my heart but bless him, clothes were not his forte.

She laughed (again!) "I'm guessing fashion isn't his thing?"

"No, but he is a criminal prosecutor so can you blame him? It's a good thing he's amazing at pretty much everything else." Her next chuckle was infinitely weaker and I looked up in alarm, trying to gauge what I had done wrong. Strangely enough, her expression was as calm and happy as ever, leaving me to wonder if I was imagining things.

"Well, this top looks great on you," she said. "Figures that even girl who's had to undergo physiological hell would have a nicer body than me." I gaped, once again speechless at the words which coming from anyone else's mouth would have seemed rude and insensitive but just sounded playful and almost like a compliment from hers. Had this perfect girl never looked in the mirror and/or noticed the looks she received from her classmates?

"Okay, Morgana, that's it. I'm putting you by yourself if you can't work next to someone like a mature individual," the editor called out. I giggled as she began to protest passionately ("such accusations! This is discrimination. Is it because I'm white?") but stood regardless.

"See you later, Gwen," she grumbled. I waved at her shyly before turning back to my computer, smiling softly. I didn't stop smiling all day.

** A/N: And they meet at last! Thus begins Gwen's journey to confidence and self-acceptance. Next chapter we explore some of the demons lurking in Morgana's life which she desperately tries to hide. Thank you to everyone who has reviewed.**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Thank you to everyone who has reviewed. This is my first time writing a fanfic, and so your feedback has been very encouraging.**

**Warning- this is a much darker and more serious chapter. It contains hints of domestic abuse, both physical and mental, and so if that bothers you please do not read.**

**Morgana:**

I stood outside of my house, searching inside myself to gather up the courage I knew I would need. Every normal, happy thought that had been occupying my brain- Vivian's face when a substantial load of physics homework had been dumped on us this afternoon; Merlin Ambrose's cheekbones; my new, enchanting yet shy friend Gwen-had been cruelly erased and replaced with the sheer panic that I bitterly hated yet always experienced when in the proximity of the house in which I slept.

Taking deep, calming breaths, I attempted to force my feet to complete the last few steps towards the front door and failed miserably. God, I was so goddamn **_weak. _**An overwhelming urge to cry, to just sink to the floor and sob uncontrollably, hit me with full force but I wrestled it back angrily. How could it be, that after all these years it _still_ took me so long to enter my own home? Was I really so pathetic?

I was sure that if I ever talked to anyone about my... domestic situation, they would find my thought processes incredibly odd. I'd heard many a time that children from "unhappy" homes spent all their time obsessing over the pain, making few friends and lacking the motivation to participate in many areas of life. I was the bizarre opposite, a perpetual abnormality. I enjoyed school and achieved more than acceptable grades, adored talking to the other people and I especially _loved_ my friends. School was my happy place, my oasis in the desert. I found it surprisingly easy to pretend to have a normal life inside its ugly walls and it was almost too easy to forget about _**him.** _Not a single thought of my father crossed my mind when I was at school, unless someone made a comment that was directly related to him, or something happened to bring back a familiar nightmare.

And yet, even though it had been _**years, **_I still had to fight back tears as I took in the crumbling brick building. Surely I should be immune by now? Hadn't I conditioned myself to be strong about it yet? I shook these thoughts out of my head and, steeling myself, entered the house with a quick, almost unconscious sign of the cross. I needed divine intervention to handle _him._

I crept into the house, attempting to sneak past him but was soon pulled to a halt by his overpowering, deep voice: "And where do you think you're going, eh?"

His figure came out of the living room and I glanced wearily at his sneering face, trying to assess his mood in order to formulate a safe response. The sickly sweet stench of alcohol oozed from his clothes and I tried- God, I _**tried**_\- to tamper down the fear that rose in my throat as I caught sight of the feral look in his eye. "I was just going to get a head start on some homework," I replied quietly, while attempting to put some space between us. He didn't allow it, dragging me back to him by a thick clump of my hair. I bit down on my lip to stifle the gasp that threatened to escape as I felt the roots of my hair protest against my scalp. My father did not often put his hands on me, preferring to resort to an endless stream of verbal abuse. In a way it was almost worse-not knowing which I punishment I would be subjected to everyday.

"Like hell you are," he growled. "Katrina's coming over and this house is in no state to greet her. You're cleaning it, **now**." I knew better than to argue, torn between relief that he and Katrina had not fought after all, and revulsion at their twisted relationship. I nodded, as it was best to say as little as possible around Uther le Fay, and tried not to make a sound as he dragged me to the small living room that was littered with broken bottles and various other forms of rubbish.

"Get to work then, little bitch," he spat at me while making himself comfortable on the sofa.

I began to clean immediately, struggling to block out the tirade of vicious curses and pointed insults that left my father's mouth as I worked. It was all in vain; every word cut me like a blunt knife, and so I instead focused on not showing any response to the words. I felt my face slip into the familiar blank expression I had mastered after years of living under this scarred and rotting roof, while he continued in a gleeful tone that hurt far more than any of his words ever could.

"Look at how pathetic you are," he jabbed, ruthlessly. I shuddered as I felt his cold eyes burn into my back. "you can't speak, you can't even look at me- you wouldn't last one minute in the real world, you little piece of _**shit**_. You're lucky I even allow you to live here or you wouldn't even be _**alive** _right now. Is there _**anything you can do?** _Oh right, how could I _**possibly** _forget. You's perfectly capable of killing your own mother." I flinched at his last words while he let out a cruel, humourless laugh, and I attempted to speed up my task with vigour.

It was in the early hours of the morning when I finally managed to finish my homework. It had taken me hours to clean the tiny building of all the junk that had accumulated over the period of one day and a further hour of making Katrina and my father dinner, after which they spent the evening engaging in a game of "who-can-maim-Morgana-the-most." Needless to say, I was exhausted.

Ignoring the grunts and moans coming from the room next door, I slipped into the minuscule bathroom and examined the bruise that had appeared on my right cheek, courtesy of my father's favourite belt. Katrina had particularly enjoyed that one. I sighed, as I hardly ever bruised, even when the blows were particularly painful. Apparently, I wasn't so lucky this time. Hopefully, no one would notice that I would be wearing make up tomorrow.

I stared at the mirror, hard. No matter what pain he tried to inflict on me, I did not want my father- my _**only** _living relative- to be condemned for his actions. After everything I'd done, everything I'd _**taken** _from him, I owed it to him. I did not want to be a weak, spineless _child _who could not endure a few harsh words and a little bit of physical contact_, _particularly when they were deserved. There were innocent children out there who were beaten from dawn to dusk _daily _without fail and yet did not utter a whimper or word of complaint. And so I returned to my room, got down onto my knees, and prayed in earnest for the strength that I did not possess, and forgiveness I did not deserve.

_**I'm sorry, Mum.**_

**A/N: And there we have an insight into the less picturesque aspects of Morgana's life. I never wanted this story to be one-dimensional, and so while there will be humour, lightheartedness and fluff, there will also be angst and drama. Gwen and Morgana carry a lot of baggage in their lives. **

**On a lighter note, I hope you all had a fantastic Easter. **

**Coming up: Gwen discovers Morgana has an indisputable crush on a certain adopted brother of hers... (Also for all the romantics out there, there will be some Arthur-Gwen interaction).**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Thank you again to everyone who has been reading this. I know the majority of the fandom comes on fanfiction to read Merthur fics (I too enjoy a good old MerlinxArthur romance), and so I'm amazed that some people are still reading this story. **

**J****ust to clarify, I will be adding in details about Merlin and Arthur's pasts, as well as explaining more about Gwen and Morgana's. Enjoy!**

Gwen:

"So if I have nine bottles in one hand, and sixteen bottles in the other, what do I have?"

"A membership with Alcoholics' Anonymous, I hope," Morgana muttered under her breath, forcing me to cough in an attempt to cover yet _**another** _laugh. I was twenty minutes into my first Maths lesson at Stanford Hill and Morgana had had me in stitches the entire time with her continuous commentary. Let's just say that it was a good thing I had covered this part of the syllabus already because I had not listened to a single word that had come out of Mrs Sungleton's mouth today (thank God for home schooling- Maths wasn't exactly my best party trick).

"I'm sorry, Morgana, do you have something to share with the class?" The stern teacher regarded her stiffly.

"I was just mentioning to Gwen here, that I thought that with the unequal groups of bottles, you had an **_ingeniously_ **unique version of an unbalanced equation," she answered sweetly, with an innocent smile to match. Mrs Sungleton grumbled out an affirmative response, narrowing her eyes at the barely-concealed sarcasm, before turning back to the board and using the bottles theory to write out a "real" Maths problem.

"You know," I whispered to her, one eye on the volatile teacher. "Shocking as it sounds, I don't think Mrs Sungleton likes you very much."

A radiant smile graced Morgana's face, as though she was proud of the fact, and she replied (quite loudly, I might add. Apparently discretion was not something Morgana le Fay liked to utilise) "Why would that be shocking?"

I rolled my eyes. "Because I've only been here three days and I've already noticed that every teacher in this school practically wants you as their offspring- with the exception of Mrs Sungleton."

Instead of the smile and casual retort I had been expecting, her face dropped. I frowned, trying to find the source of her mood change but was distracted when an answer came from the other side of Morgana. "That's because our little firecracker here threw a calculator at Mrs S's head in year 7," the girl told me, leaning forwards conspiratorially.

I attempted to smother another round of laughter with my hand before giving up and giggling quietly. "No way!"

"Way," the girl confirmed, nodding solemnly. "First day and all. That was over four years ago but Mrs S's feathers are still a bit ruffled by it."

"Mithian," Morgana moaned, the joking demeanour back again. Had I once again imagined the change in her expression? "I thought we agreed not to tell people about that anymore." She turned to me with wide, imploring eyes. "You have to understand that there was a legitimate reason for this, Gwen. My actions are completely justified."

"Oh, I'm sure," I murmured placatingly, still marveling over how comfortable I felt around Morgana- enough to joke around in a way I only really did with my family. A number of hours over three days had been enough to put me more at ease with her than I was with people I had known for _years _and I was in turn more comfortable with _**other** _people when I was around her. It was nothing short of a miracle.

"Okay, well for starters, I hadn't eaten any breakfast that day so I was already a little grumpy-"

"You didn't have breakfast last Thursday and yet I don't remember any inanimate objects being shot at unsuspecting innocents," Mithian interjected.

Morgana waved her off. "Whatever Mith, that was different. As I was **_saying_**, I hadn't eaten anything so I was slightly, let's say, _**volatile** _that day, and_-"_

"Volatile doesn't even begin to cover it. We were all afraid that one wrong move from someone would turn her into The Incredible Hulk-"

"Shhh, Mithian, dearest, it's not cute to exaggerate. So, Gwen, when, on the **_very first _**day of school, this utter beast of a teacher decided that she wants to give sweet, nervous little eleven year olds homework that consisted of **_two pages'_** worth of questions _**for the next day**, _something just had to be done, you know? I just couldn't let that happen and still retain a clean conscience."

"How noble of you," I remarked dryly, amused at the thought of a shorter Morgana sitting in the same classroom, fuming silently.

"Yes, yes it was, thank you. And Mithy here was sitting next to me and I distinctly remember her whimpering-"

"I do **_not_ **whimper!"

"-**_whimpering_** about a baptism that she had to attend and how scared she was about not being able to find the time to do the homework and something inside of me just snapped. So I took my calculator, and with all the power in my little year 7 arm, I flung it straight at the beast's head so that she would know who's boss," she concluded proudly.

"So let me get this straight," I choked out between chuckles. "You **_assaulted_ **a teacher because she was doing her **_job_**?" Mithian began to laugh as I gasped for air and Morgana mock-scowled at me.

"You're getting it all wrong- I was a freedom fighter, Gwen! It was epic!" She insisted, earnestly.

"Except," Mithian wheezed out, holding her side. " She has the worst aim **_ever_**, so it just ended up bouncing off the door and not going anywhere near Mrs Sungleton's head."

Tears streamed down my face as I managed to gasp out, "oh dear. Kind of takes away from the drama of it all, don't you think?"

"No!" Morgana protested. "You should've heard what a _**bang** _it made when it bounced off the door. The impact created more drama, _**obviously.**_Do you not pay attention in English lit? Steinbeck would be ashamed of you."

"Okay, okay," I sighed, humouring her. "Well, did it work? Did you release your class from the inexcusable burden that is homework?"

Morgana opened her mouth sheepishly but was cut off by Mithian's swift snort. "Hah! If memory serves, we actually got an extra page, did we not, dearest freedom fighter?"

I laughed outright at Morgana's dejected face and reached over to pat her hand. "Aaw, don't sulk, Morgana, I'm sure you had everyone's best intentions at heart."

"I am _**not** _sulking!" She countered with an easy smile, reaching over to poke Mithian in retribution.

"_**Miss Ambrose**_," came the snooty voice of the woman at the front of the class. " I appreciate that you have only been with us for a few days but you should know that we have a no tolerance policy towards idle chat in class time. Please refrain from conversing while I am teaching in the future."

I quickly adopted an appropriately apologetic smile, waiting for her to turn around again.

"Dang, Mor. She's only been here a few days and you're already getting her into trouble," Mithian snickered.

Morgana, however, did not seem to hear her as I turned to see her facing me, her mouth gaping open.

"Ambrose?" She squeaked out, eyes bugging out of her face.

Confused, I answered hesitantly. "Yeah? My, uh, my surname?"

"Ohmigosh, ohmigosh, ohmigosh," she blabbered frantically, albeit quietly after receiving a pointed glare from "The Beast." "That's why you were with him yesterday...and the clothes...Ambrose..._**so fit**_...oh my gosh!"

I furrowed my eyebrows, attempting to understand her nonsensical mumbles. "Um, Morgana? I'm going to need just a little bit more clarification. I don't speak babble."

"You're Merlin Ambrose's sister!" She exclaimed, almost accusingly, her eyes wide.

"I apologise?" I noted absently that she hadn't said "adopted sister" like most people did.

"He's just so-" she stopped mid-gush and to my immense surprise, a faint blush began to creep onto her pale cheeks. It was the first time I'd seen her present any signs of self-consciousness.

Mithian, meanwhile, was chortling in her seat. "Oh this is brilliant, this is actually _**bloody** _brilliant. God, Morgana- what are the odds?"

"Oh my gosh, Mith, please stop talking."

"Still confused over here," I interjected, watching, bemused, as Morgana's cheeks grew steadily more flushed. Mithian leaned over to me, eyes sparkling with mirth.

"Basically, Morgana over here-"

"Mith, if you love me at all, _**please**_-"

"-since the very first time she pulled her head out of the clouds and realised that boys, y'know, _**existed**_-"

"No, no, no, this isn't funny. This is _**not** _banter, I repeat, this is _**not**_-"

"-has had the biggest, lamest, all-consuming crush on Merlin Ambrose."

There was a moment of silence, then-

"_**MITHIAN!**_"

I stared blankly at Morgana as she clapped her hand over the giggling Mithian's mouth, steadfastly not meeting my eyes.

I mean, it's not like I hadn't experienced this before-more than a few girls had been drawn to Merlin's endearing charm in the past, and in any other circumstance I might have found Morgana's embarrassment amusing. But a sliver of doubt began to worm its way into my mind without my permission, eroding my amusement- would my connection to Merlin be the only thing that interested Morgana now? Would she use me to get to him? I was not okay with losing the first to treat me as though I was _**normal**_\- the one person who, from the very moment we met, did not define me by my cancer.

I decided that going for the casual approach was the best option here. After all, I didn't know for sure that she would drop me, did I? She had talked to me before she knew Merlin was my brother.

_Only because you were standing next to him at the time, _a voice inside my head reminded me nastily. I ignored it happily.

"It's okay, Morgana," I reassured her, smiling weakly. "I know how that story goes. I've had a thing for his best friend Lancelot since the first time Merlin brought him round when I was four."

"Lancelot? He's the quiet one who looks like his skin tastes of honey, right?" Morgana asked, looking thoughtful. I nodded in affirmation-to both parts of her question. His skin really did look like the perfect topping on my morning pancakes.

"Good choice," Mithian added approvingly, turning to Morgana.

"Great arse."

"Solid 9/10"

"Back off, ladies," I interjected teasingly. "The hispanic one's mine."

"_**Is** _he, now?" Morgana asked, waggling her eyebrows suggestively.

I sighed, despondent. "No, he's only ever seen me as Merlin's kid sister. Not to mention chemotherapy tends to really kill your game, what with the puking and the hair loss and the general inability to do much."

Morgana laughed loudly, drawing looks from all around, some curious, some irritated. Mithian raised her eyebrows at me, clearly surprised, amusement reluctantly pulling at the corners of her mouth.

The remainder of the lesson was spent playing a game of Extreme Noughts and Crosses (which quickly became very heated and almost ended Mithian and Morgana's friendship), and by the end of it, I felt like I had also gained a friend in Mithian. She was sweet and witty, and most importantly, _**didn't stare**_. It was clear from the way that the two girls interacted with each other that Mithian and Morgana had been friends for a long time, and yet they never once made me feel inferior or excluded.

When the bell rang to signal the beginning of lunch, I politely declined Morgana's offer to eat with them, as I had done everyday previously. The canteen, bustling with the energy (and stares. God forbid we forget the stares) of the entire population of Stanford Hill, was still too much for me to handle. Instead, I made my way to the room which had swiftly become my save haven: the art room. Not a soul frequented the small, viciously colourful place during lunch, and so I was safe in the knowledge that I would be completely alone and free to relax into the most calming activity of all: painting. I never made a conscious decision of what I would paint, preferring instead to allow the image to creep into my mind of its own accord, and my hand to move across the blank canvas without my permission. When I painted, I felt free.

When I painted, I felt infinite.

In my excitement to get there and recover that blissful feeling, I failed to pay attention to my surroundings and was soon met with a hard body that slammed into me, sending both my things and my person tumbling to the floor.

"Oh, **_shit_**, sorry, sorry, sorry," came a deep, apologetic voice that I would recognise anywhere-Arthur. Strong hands smoothed down my arms, lifting me easily to my feet. "Are you okay?" he asked me earnestly, while scrambling to retrieve my fallen possessions.

"I'm fine," I reassured him quietly, placing a hand on his shoulder to halt his movements. He stopped moving immediately, glancing at the hand on his shoulder, which I quickly removed, embarrassed. I hadn't meant to put my hands on him, but it had felt infinitely wrong to see him on the floor, scrambling around to pick up my things. My heart felt warm as my eyes met his grey-blue ones. His hair golden hair had formed a haphazard halo around his face, and for a long moment I forgot how to breathe.

"Thank you," I smiled at him, gesturing to the books he now had in his arms. He blinked at me for a moment before springing into action and handing the books over with an oddly blank expression on his face.

"Where are you off to, anyway?" he asked, pushing his hair out of his eyes. My fingers twitched at my side. "Canteen's the other way. It's the best thing about this place- why are you putting distance between yourself and its glorious ham and pineapple pizza?"

I chuckled. He was just like Merlin. "Ham and pineapple?" I wrinkled my nose. "What business does a _**pineapple** _have on a **_pizza_?"**

"Oh not you too," he groaned. " I had hoped that you would have fantastic taste buds like me, and that you would recognise greatness for what it is."

It seemed he and Morgana shared a liking for dramatic sentences. "I've got food with me. I'm just heading on to the art room." I blurted, feeling my cheeks heat up. Thank fuck I had dark skin.

"Ah, an artist then?" He looked genuinely curious.

"Amateur at best."

"You'll have to show me some of your stuff sometime. I don't have a creative bone in my body but I'd love to see your work."

I stared at him. Cute boy said _**what**_, now?

I involuntarily stuttered an affirmative response (something incredibly lame which I don't care to remember like "uh, o-o-okay") and he winked at me before staggering down the hallway.

Huh? What just happened? Clearly my head had taken quite a bruising when I fell, because I seemed to be hallucinating scenarios where beautiful boys talked to me and appreciated art.

I made my way to the art room with no further incidents, head reeling. I was still slightly dazed when, an hour later, I looked at the canvas in front of me to see a figure who was unmistakably Arthur-encased in chainmail and striking red- with a hand positioned carefully on a sword at his belt, looking up at me with an expression of such protectiveness and unbeatable power, my breath caught in my throat. I had drawn Arthur as a _**warrior**_.

I puzzled over the painting, wondering why I had drawn it, and why it looked so disturbingly _**real**_\- so wrapped up in my thoughts that I didn't even register the fleeting, dark shadow which fell suddenly over the canvas until it was gone a moment later.

**A/N: So a bit of mystery has entered the tale, dun dun duuuuuun. Hope you enjoyed this installment. Next up: Morgana spends some time at Arthur's and finally meets the object of her infatuation. **

**Unfortunately, as many of you know, it is exam season and so it will be at least a month until the next chapter is posted. If you want to read anything of mine before then, I will be posting some one shots that I have written previously.**

**Good luck to everyone who has exams! I'm praying for you all.**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: This is ridiculously overdue, and for that I am sorry- real life has been steadily kicking my arse for the last couple of months. I'm still not 100% happy with this chapter, but I wanted to get it out already. Thank you to everyone who has been reading, reviewing and favouriting in the meantime!**

**Morgana**:

Friday evening found me in one of my favourite spots in the entire planet-Arthur's kitchen counter, with the enticing aroma of his mother's famous vegetable lasagna teasing at my nostrils. Here I could partake in not one, not two but _**three** _of my most- loved hobbies- eating delicious food, irritating Arthur and basking in the attention and warmth of his mother, Katy (a.k.a the sweetest, kindest and loveliest woman on Earth. Mother Theresa herself had nothing on this babe). Conveniently, Hobby Number Three just added fuel to the fire of Hobby Number Two.

"And then, I was like, 'yo, homeboy, I see your shoelaces are tied, why you still be trippin'?' But he just _**cackled** _at me and didn't take me seriously _**at all,**_" I complained to her, delighting in the sharp glare she threw at Arthur in response to my heart-wrenching tale.

"Arthur, that's horrible! How could you treat Morgana in such a way?"

"Yeah, Arthur," I crowed happily. "How could you _**treat** _me in such a way?"

Arthur spluttered in disbelief from his seat at the kitchen table. "Are you-are you being serious right now? I can't believe you're taking her side, Mum, you're the woman who **_birthed_ **me!"

"That doesn't give you the right to be nasty, darling," she pointed out, brandishing a wooden spoon in his direction sternly. "If Morgana wants to take on a more..._**varied** _vocabulary, she should be free to do so without you tormenting her for it." Her words were sharp; the soft caress she crossed the room to bestow on his hair was anything but. I steadfastly ignored the familiar clench in my chest.

"Fine, Mother," he huffed, leaning into her fondly in a way I knew he would vehemently deny if asked about. "But if she starts calling me 'bruv' or 'fam', I'm booking her straight into therapy."

I watched them for a few moments, desperately tampering down on the ache threatening to spread in my chest, before finally choking up a few words in what I prayed was a half-way normal tone. "Don't worry about the washing up, Katy. Arthur and I will take care of it."

She smiled gratefully (full of life and warmth as she was, even Katy Pendragon couldn't survive 10 hour shifts, cooking enough food to satisfy her teenage son's considerable appetite and the subsequent cleaning required on pure will alone) and left the kitchen. Arthur pushed himself up from the table and ambled over to the counter.

"Don't worry about the washing up, Katy," he mimicked in a high pitched voice, fluttering his eyelashes like a twat. "I'll take care of it with my _**perfect** _manners, and my _**sugary-sweet**_ smiles, like the _**perfect** _daughter you've always wished you had."

"Shut it, loser," I retorted, knocking his hip playfully as I pulled on the rubber gloves at the side of the sink. There was no real sting behind it- I knew well enough that Arthur would gladly share his amazing mother with me without even a second thought, if he thought that was what I wanted. It was hard keeping my home life from the person I was closest to, but for all my cautiousness, he could at least sense my longing for the mother I never had. I suspected that was why we spent so much time at his house, and why he never pushed to go back to mine.

We soon fell into a comfortable rhythm of washing and drying as we caught up on each other's week. While I didn't spend as much time with Arthur at school as I did with the girls (and he usually hung out with his large football mates, comparing muscles, communicating via grunts, and generally looking like cute Neanderthals), it was an unspoken yet undisputed fact that Friday evenings were ArthurxMorgana time.

"Sooooo," I sang, waggling my eyebrows in the way I knew never failed to irritate him. "Are you still in _**luuuurve** _with Mithian?"

"I was never 'in _**luuuurve' **_with her, you weirdo. I simply admired her wit and fantastic tits."

I rolled my eyes. _**Boys**_. "Admired? Was that a past tense I heard in there?"

"Eh," He shrugged, seemingly unbothered. "I guess it just fizzled out. It was too weird anyway-we've been friends for too long. I felt like I was lusting after my sister."

"Gross," I wrinkled my nose as I handed him another plate to dry. "I guess it's all for the best."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. She was way out of your league anyway."

"Fuck off, she was not!"

"Puh-leeease," I drawled obnoxiously, grinning down at the pan in my hands. "Even if by some odd miracle you did manage to shag her, you wouldn't even have to be worried about knocking her up 'cos her eggs would just ignore your inferior sperm."

"That's just plain _**disrespectful**_," he growled, dipping his hands into the sink's soapy water and flicking some at my face. "I'll have you know that many an attractive woman has chased after me, eager to get a ride on The King," he punctuated this absurd statement by gesturing animatedly towards his groin, peering down at me earnestly in the process.

I, in turn, snorted so hard I nearly swallowed my tongue.

"You're delusional mate," I sighed, patting his arm deliberately with my wet, glove-clad hand. "But I admire your confidence, and I'm sure that someday another girl will too."

"Speaking of potential suitors," he began, wiping his arm on the back of my top. I smirked inwardly at his choice of words. Arthur could switch between pervy, teenage boy and courteous chivalrous gentleman faster than most people blinked. Sometimes it was like he was from another era- he once broke three bones in his arm because he he'd gone to retrieve his neighbour's cat from the the top of a twenty ft tree that wasn't sturdy enough to bear the weight of a small child, let alone Arthur's bulky build, all because the eighty year old had fretted over not being able to sleep without her.

"Guess who's just joined the football team?" He continued, unaware of my reminiscing.

"Who?" I asked absent-mindedly, still replaying the sickening crunch that had resounded when Arthur had hit the ground, landing in a splayed mess with the unharmed cat hissing, affronted, on his stomach.

"Oh, just a certain tall, black-haired sixth-former with skin paler than Kristen Stewart's and ears the size of the Earth's magnetic field-"

I dropped the plate I was holding, heedless of the loud clash it made in protest. "_**Merlin**_?"

"The one and only," he confirmed in that irritatingly high pitched, breathy voice. (Which, for the record, sounded _**nothing** _like mine).

"But why?" I asked stupidly, unable to recover from the fact that my oldest friend and the _**apple** _of my bloody _**eye** _were going to be spending hours together every week.

"He's applying to Oxford or something, and they want 'well-rounded individuals' so he signed up in case they ask him about sports." He shrugged airily, as though gorgeous sixth formers I was obsessed with joined his football team everyday.

I was approximately 3.5 seconds away from slapping him.

"You know," I attempted in my most casual tone, determinedly keeping my eyes on the spoon I was washing lest they give me away. "I've been thinking about coming to check out your practices- show some school spirit and whatnot."

Naturally, it didn't work:

"Oh _**now** _you're interested in football. _**Funny** _that."

"Your sarcasm is neither attractive, nor appreciated. Furthermore, I don't know what you're talking about- I go to practically all your games, thank you very much!"

"_**That's** _debatable. All you do is eat food and gleefully hurl abuse at all the players on the opposing team, inevitably feel guilty about it, and then round off the day by spending the rest of the time fretting like an antique furniture sales assistant as a result."

_**Bollocks**_.

"Never in my _**life** _have I heard something less true. I love the -um- _**integrity** _of the game," I insisted, trying to sound injured while simultaneously racking my brains furiously. "Like I'm really passionate about players going, y'know, off-lane and stuff. Really gets my bloody boiling."

The expression on Arthur's face was akin to one he might direct towards a squashed rat. "_**Offside**_, Morgana." His voice was saturated with disgust. "It's called _**offside**_."

"Anyway, Merlin's terrible, " he added, almost apologetically. "I mean really, _**really** _bad. We thought he'd be like Lance, seeing as they're such good friends, but he runs like a baby colt and doesn't so much kick the ball as, well, trips up over it. We had to make him the unofficial team lackey instead."

"Wow, try not to sound so beat up about it," I replied scathingly, feeling my indignation rise. "You can't treat him like your **_slave_**."

"Claws in, tiger." He grinned at me knowingly. The urge to punch his stupid face was growing alarmingly with every second. "We're not mistreating him. I'm just saying it's nice to have towels and water always at the ready."

"You're such an entitled prat," I rolled my eyes, shoving him with my shoulder, feeling mildly irritated by the fact that he didn't even stumble an inch from my efforts. He didn't bother to deny the insult, instead looking down at me hesitantly, as though weighing up his next words.

"Hey-his sister's the one who joined the paper, right?"

"Yeah, Gwen," I handed him another plate, waving it in front of his face when he didn't immediately take it.

"She...she seems nice."

"She's **_fantastic_**," I corrected with feeling. She really was.

"Not, I don't know, how I'd imagine a cancer patient to be-or look- like."

"Well, she _**is** _in remission," I stated airly, confused as to why Arthur had taken the conversation here. "You of all people should know that looks can be deceiving-she's more than just a _**disease**_." Despite my words, I did sort of understand where he was coming from. Despite being on the shy side, Gwen was sweet and funny and her little outbursts of sass were made all the better from the unexpectedness of them. Not only this, but despite her frail-looking body, and lack of conventional hair, there was a fragile beauty in her vulnerabilities, an elegance to her pretty brown eyes, and a nobility to her kind smile that I could see appealing to someone like Arthur.

"I guess, " Arthur agreed distractedly, pulling me from my thoughts. "Leon seems to be pleased with her work- he mentioned it at practice. And Leon's never pleased with _**anything**_."

"Yeah, Elena spent half an hour gushing to me about it today. Apparently she now considers Gwen the _**Freud of Fashion**_, and the _**Gandhi of**** Garments**_."

A beat of silence passed.

"That makes no sense whatsoever."

I shrugged, feeling tentatively content. "So what else is new?"

* * *

The content feeling followed me home, depleting in proportion to the distance between myself and the old brick building. I let myself into its dark stillness, heart racing slightly in response to the feeling of foreboding now encompassing my limbs. A pitiful whimper echoed in the small hallway, which I quickly tracked to the kitchen. There, lying unaware in a puddle of vomit, was my father, writhing and mumbling incoherently in his sleep.

"No, no, no," he repeated miserably, in a voice so soft it was almost a whisper. Steeling myself, I made my way over to his side and reached over to touch his shoulder. My hand's descent, however, was suddenly stopped furiously by his own lightning-quick fingers encircling my wrist firmly. My breath caught in my chest as I looked into his now-open, cloudy eyes that did nothing to conceal the pain behind them.

"Don't touch me, " he sobbed brokenly, body convulsing with shudders. "Y-you, you took her from me, you _**took** _her from me! Don't _**touch** _me."

I froze, the words hitting me worse than any blow, the despair in his eyes a punch to my gut. Attempting to steady myself, I wrestled back the guilt in my throat, and the shame in my stomach, focusing on the matter at hand. "I know, dad, " I whispered, ignoring the crack in my voice. "I know. Let's get you to bed."

He allowed himself to be led away like a lamb, eyes still closed and murmuring "Ygraine, my Ygraine," like a man possessed.

Later, when the pitiful moans had finally faded; when my very skin, stretched tight like a cage over my body, itched at me from the inside whispering "_**g****_uilty, g_uilty, guilty,**_" it occurred to me, unbidden, that this was the first time I had ever heard my father utter my mother's name.

* * *

Saturday morning emerged in sunny skies and bitterly cold air- this I observed from my intermittent glances out the window and brief darts out the door. Usually I enjoyed, or at least tolerated, my early Saturday-morning shift at the bookshop but the air was shifting towards my favourite season in the most seductive of ways and I felt restless, agitated, wanting to take one of the books I was so monotonously stacking, flop down on a patch of grass and just smell the air. The tempting image was, however, swiftly pushed out of my mind and replaced with the less pleasing one which had greeted me in the post yesterday-two electricity bills, the letters "**OVERDUE**" printed like a siren over every sheet, stopping my descent to the door and forcing me back to work.

I sighed despondently as I surveyed the empty room. Normally the early morning shift meant that I could curl up one of the soft futons I had insisted Geoffrey litter his precious shop with, a fat paperback in my hands and the sound of blessed stillness for company (Geoffrey didn't really care what I did in this shift- he paid me simply for staying in the store until he arrived himself). Today that serenity was impossible to achieve, erased by the hissing "_**you took her from me, you took her from me,**_" that was currently weaving through my head, loud enough to drown out the lulling hum of even F. Scott Fitzgerald himself.

Seeing as no one ever frequented the shop this early, I was left to instead idly stack the shelves and meander around, hopelessly trying to distract myself and dull the accusations throbbing through my veins.

In a heartbeat- a second in which my internal chaos curiously quieted down and lay deceptively dormant- a body tripped through the door of the bookstore, hands accidentally grazing the tops of my shoulders and unknowingly raising me from perdition.

"Oops," a voice stated casually- if a little apologetically- unaware of the sudden stillness ringing in my ears. Because I knew, goddammit I _**knew**_, before I raised my eyes, just whose would be there to greet mine.

"Hey!" His smooth voice exclaimed happily. "You're Gwen's friend." His blue eyes twinkled kindly as a polite smile pulled at his gorgeous lips. I held out a hand, ridiculously proud of its steadiness even as my eyes caught on a tendril of his unruly black hair which had fallen carelessly across his forehead.

"Morgana," I confirmed, shaking his hand and adding a dumb curtsy because my brain had apparently decided to shut down and abort the fucking mission at some point in the last minute. "At your service."

"Morgana," he repeated, peering down at me and assessing me intently. "I'm Merlin, Gwen's brother."

_**I KNOW**_, I resisted the urge to shout, instead choosing to cock my head stiffly in an "_**oh?**_" maneuver.

"So what brings Gwen's brother here, then?" I asked, distracted from my nerves by my sudden curiousity. _**Camelot Books **_had a small but strong string of loyal customers which successfully kept Geoffrey afloat, but newcomers were a rarity, especially this early in the morning. "WH Smith too far for your delicate, little legs?"

He snorted at the ridiculousness of the question, flexing his long- _**bloody gorgeous**_\- legs in an exaggerated manner. "Hey now," he began, palms raised towards me imploringly. "I know they don't look like much but I'll have you know that these babies have been known to withstand many a strenuous activity." He leaned towards me solemnly, conspiratorially, as though he was about to reveal something of great significance. "I can even walk all the way up to Chemistry in one go- as in, _**without** _taking a break in the art block."

I gasped in mock-surprise (although a teeny-tiny, utterly minuscule shameful part of me was stupidly impressed-even _**Arthur** _and _**Percival **_had to stop in the art block every now and again), colouring my voice in fake awe. "Well if I'd known such a fine and superior specimen of the human race was going to be among us today, I would've at least dressed up a little. _**Drat**_."

"Famous last words," the openness of his smile belied his actions as he looked me up and down snootily."But I guess you'll have to do," he conceded with a long-suffering sigh. "I mean if there really is _**absolutely** _no one else."

"Shut up, " I admonished, laughing. "Did you actually come here for a reason or just to abuse your customer privileges by attacking the staff?"

"I'm here for a book- the latter is just for my personal enjoyment."

"Never pegged you for a bully, Merlin," the name felt like a caress on my tongue. "It's always the ones you least expect."

He shrugged breezily, shameless smile still in place. "What can I say, life's an unpredictable bitch." Not even a hint of an apology crept through his cheeky tone and I felt my chest warm in response.

_**Bollocks**_.

"So,um-this book?" I ignored the embarrassing crack in my voice, hoping that he would too. "Does it have a name?"

"Yes, and quite a well-known one, I believe," he answered wryly. "The Three Musketeers ring any bells?"

"Ah yes, I think I've come across that once or twice in my time."

It was downright _**pathetic** _how much effort it took for me to suppress my goofy smile as I led the way (although apparently not enough effort was put in, if the pulling feeling at my lips was any indicator).

"To be honest, I don't really know why it's so hyped up and well-known anyway. It's really not on par with the **_real_ **classics."

Wait-_**what?**_

The smile dropped from my face instantly as my feet registered his words and whirled me around to face what my brain was now screaming at me was the enemy.

"Sorry, I...Did you just-excuse me?" I struggled around, searching for the right words. "You were joking, right? Please tell me you're joking."

The startled look in his eye confirmed my fears as he murmured defensively, "Ease up, tiger. We're all entitled to our own opinions."

My brain short-circuited.

"Not if your opinion is **_uninformed_ **and _**invalid**_," I snapped back. Somewhere in the far back recesses of my mind, a logical voice was urging me to calm down, wondering why I was overreacting so much, reminding me that this was Gwen's brother, _**Merlin** _for God's sake, the person I'd been lusting over for the better part of four years. But I couldn't help it- my hands were shaking with an accumulation of memories clamouring to burst forth from my skin under his unflinching stare. Uther's accusing eyes flashed before me as I fingered the spine of the book- _**her** _book- and tried to wrestle my breathing under control, to remind myself to be sane.

"Morgana?" His voice was cautious now, probing, a hint of defensiveness still present but overpowered by confusion.

Sweat pooled in my lower back. How was it possible, that I could fool and reassure people who'd known me for years- Arthur, Mithian, Morgause- without even blinking, people who I trusted with my life, who I in turn would give my life _**for, **_and yet it was these Ambrose siblings- individuals I had known mere days- who could put knowing, heartbreakingly kind eyes on me and dissemble the pretense without even lifting a finger?

Several moments later, when I had taken a shaky hold of my usually unshakable control, I turned back to him, holding the book in my hands like a shield. His blue eyes- so different from Gwen's in their physicality and yet so _**hauntingly** _similar in their power and contents- held mine unblinkingly.

"Sorry about that," I grinned at him, feeling like my face was about to collapse. "Didn't have time for coffee this morning and it's turned me into a right harpy. Allow me to ring this up for you."

He opened his mouth, looking blindsided, but I turned away abruptly, rushing to the counter and the scanning the book as quickly as I could. He stayed quiet throughout the process; his intense gaze hitting me like a thousand questions, and I sped up, desperately trying not to buckle under the pressure.

I retreated into myself, automatically going through the motions of exchanging money and wishing him a good day, wiping my mind blank in a way I hadn't been forced to do actively in years.

The last thing I remembered was Merlin's slight frown as he backed slowly out of the shop before I finally sank to my knees, feeling tired all the way down to my bones, my eyes fluttering shut of their own accord.

**A/N: A rollercoaster of emotions in this chapter- I know it can seem jarring but Morgana's control is starting to slip, and she's so very scared about that, even if she won't admit it to herself. **

**p.s. I know it took forever for me to get this chapter up, and I just want to give a heads up that the next chapter probably won't be up for a while either. I was reading through the first few chapters of this story and some of the writing is genuinely appalling, so I want to fix that up before I move on. In the meantime, I recently posted two one-shots (one Arwen, one Mergana) if you're bored and want to check those out. **

**Thanks again for reading! **


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: sorry again for the late update-whoever invented the second year of A-levels needs to be hung, drawn and quartered but alas here we are. Longer chapter this time, with an emphasis on the OT4. Hope you enjoy!**

Gwen:

It was disarming, really, how quickly the weeks flew by. When I'd first stepped through the doors of Stanford Hill, dread clawing at my stomach, I'd thought that time would move by at a snail's pace, that I would be counting down the hours, minutes and seconds until the year was over and I could finally escape the school's ugly walls and slink back into my mundane but infinitely easier life. Instead, I found myself swept up in the laughter of being integrated into Morgana's group of friends, the stress of deadlines and tests, and Arthur Pendragon's infuriatingly enticing smile.

In what felt like the blink of an eye, it was the middle of October and the first football game of the year had arrived, bringing with it a surge in school spirit that would not have been out of place in a cheesy high school film. Arthur and his gang of athletic cronies could often be found going over tactics and strategies in the canteen, heads bent and concentration coating their faces, or practising drills out in the football field (which Vivian, Elena and I frequently dragged Morgana and Mithian, heedless of their anti-objectification protests, out to watch-purely as a show of support of course, and not at all because the sight of sweaty muscles bunching together as the boys streaked down the pitch was an ever-welcome sight), all to the backdrop of multiple students'-and even teachers'- encouraging exclamations of "atta, boys!" "make us proud!" and my particular favourite:"You'll slay those devolved bastards on Friday!"

Morgana, in contrast, seemed to derive distinct pleasure from pointing out to each team member just how shoddy their odds were looking this year ("look, fellas, you're good and all, but based on statistics and your scoring history, do you really think you can beat _**all**_ the city's teams this year? Do you think you can beat _**Mercia**_?") and "coaching" happily from the sidelines ("Owain, you need to _**kick** _the ball to get it in the net- grunting at it like a wolf in heat isn't going to achieve the same-pardon the pun- goal, I don't believe").

Her glee was proportional to their levels of annoyance and the only two members who seemed to be immune to her goading were Arthur and Merlin. The former only looked at her fondly, apparently used to her antics, confident in his position as the new team captain (the youngest in Stanford Hill's football team's history) and certain that he would lead his squad to victory. It couldn't even be called arrogance- a blind man could see the authority and competence he exuded on the pitch, barking orders at his team mates and whipping them into shape- I would be lying if I said that the determined set of his shoulders and the ease with which he directed the boys didn't make my mouth a little dry and my legs cross a little tighter.

Merlin, on the other hand, remained unruffled by Morgana's mischief purely because it was never directed at him- in fact she barely spoke to him at all. It would be easy to attribute this to the fact that he only really played when someone was forced to sub-out ( Lord knows that I adored my brother more than anything in the world but, bless him, his was not a body made for rough contact and powerful kicks), and a certain shyness because of her crush on him, but there was something about the way she fell uncharacteristically silent in his presence and refused to meet his eyes that suggested she was almost...fearful of him. I couldn't for the life of me work out why, and so i reluctantly added it to my mental list of weird, barely noticeable quirks that Morgana had that could not be explained. Merlin, too, seemed to have picked up on it, never pushing her into a conversation even as his followed her around curiously, almost as though he couldn't help it. ("There's something strange about your friend Morgana," he had said quietly a few weeks ago, hands thoughtfully tracing the cover of a copy of The Three Musketeers. "But I can't put my finger on what it is, exactly.")

Another strange thing that had occurred was the promotion of Arthur Pendragon, Morgana's gorgeous best friend and football extraordinaire, from my sort-of-if-only-I-could-squash-my-attraction-to-him friend to my Maths tutor and regular acquaintance. It had taken approximately three weeks for my home school advantage to stop being valid, and only a few days after that for Miss Sungleton to clock onto my Mathematical ineptness and suggest a tutor. I had wanted Morgana (who was irritatingly as clever as she was beautiful) but the snooty teacher had sniffed at the idea, declared it "counter-productive" and instead directed me to the equally beautiful, apparently equally mathematically talented Arthur. I had been surprised-I'd never pegged him as a Maths nerd- but ten minutes into the first session was all I needed to see that he was clearly in his element, explaining all the formulae and complicated calculations complete with enthusiastic hand gestures. We hadn't had very many sessions yet, as I'd insisted he not overstretch himself by pouring all his energy into school work, football, _**and** _improving my embarrassingly poor mathematical abilities, but I;d already begun to miraculously understand the subject more.

In fact, all in all, life was going relatively swimmingly- although this was marred slightly by both the occasional shadow falling across Morgana's face at unexplained moments and even more so by a prickly feeling that sometimes overtook me, making my breath quicken and goosebumps break out all over my body. It was an inexplicable sensation- all I knew was that it made me feel uneasy and confused, as I couldn't quite decipher what was causing it, and yet it wasn't anything concrete that I could talk to someone about without them looking at me like I was off my rocker.

Now, waiting for Morgana, Morgause and Mithian to come by at the end of my road so that we could all go to the game together, I sensed it more acutely than ever. My fingers stroked the fabric of the bandanna on my head nervously as I waited on the deserted road, feeling more vulnerable by the minute. It was almost like there were a pair of eyes watching me, reaching out in the wind to brush over my shoulder and-

"Gwen-_**Teeeeen**_!" I exhaled in relief after the initial shock, as I felt a pair of familiar arms wrap enthusiastically around me from behind, lifting me off my feet in her exuberance.

"Mother of God, Morgana," I tried to sound exasperated but the relieved laugh that tore out of me probably undermined the emotion. "Can't you ever just walk up to my face calmly and say 'hello' like a normal person?"

"Why on earth would I do that?" I laughed at her genuinely horrified, scrunched-up expression and turned towards the sound of the other two girls' approach.

"Sorry about that, Gwen," Morgause told me as Mithian stepped up to give me a hug and a low "We tried to reign her in but you know what a little serpent she is, sometimes."

"Why does everyone always talk about me like I'm some kind of misbehaving toddler?" Morgana grumbled, rolling her eyes petulantly. Mithian caught my eye and I bit my lip to keep from laughing as she proceeded to coo at Morgana in a placating tone. ("Come now, Morgie, no one really thinks that. We all know you're _**very** _competent and _**very** _sophisticated").

"So are you excited about seeing your first game?" I blinked, startled, as Morgause appeared right next to me, expression closed off and composed. Of all of Morgana's friends, Morgause had been the one I hadn't gotten as chummy with- she'd been polite but detached, and I hadn't pegged her as someone who enjoyed small-talk.

"I am," I confirmed, shyly avoiding her eyes. "But I'm a little nervous for them- they've been practising so hard and I just really hope they win, you know?"

"They better win," The blonde girl hissed vehemently, a vicious glint in her eye promptly reminding me that she was also the scariest of all of Morgana's friends. "If they give that Mercia **_wanker_ **captain anything more to gloat about, I'll tear their livers out of with my _**teeth**_."

"Calm down, babe," Morgana slid her her hand through the crook of the formidable girl's elbow. "It's just a silly football game, nothing to get riled up about. Whether they win or lose, world poverty will still be a thing, global warming will still threaten our planet and we're still all going to fail Mrs Nitril's test on Monday. I can't wait for this game to be over so we can all go back to realising that football has absolutely _**no impact**_ on the world whatsoever."

"Just wait until the game starts," Mithian whispered into my ear. "This happens _**every** _year."

* * *

"YOU _**DIRTY**_, FILTHY, CHEATING _**MOTHERFUCKERS**_, I'M GOING TO BEAT THE _**SHIT** _OUT OF YOU, YOU BLOODY _**TWATS**_. Think you can just walk in here and slam into our people like you bloody own the pitch, you jacked up wanke- _**YES**_, ARTHUR, FUCKING SLAY THEM, _**GOOOOOAAAAAL**_!" Morgana jumped up and down in her place excitedly as Arthur seamlessly directed the ball into the back of the net, apparently unaware of the glaring mother two seats down who'd placed her hands over the toddler in her lap's ears.

It had taken approximately four minutes and twenty-seven seconds of game-time for Mithian's cryptic statement on my road to make sense. Morgana had quickly dropped her "football-is-not-a-world-issue-we-are-wasting-our-time-I-am-holier-than-thou" stance and promptly exploded in a stream of curses and violent insults and threats aimed at the Mercian team, screaming like a banshee when Percival scored the first goal of the match. Even Mithian-sweet, mild-mannered Mithian- had shaken her fist angrily at a mid-fielder who'd slid into Elyan's knees in a filthy tackle, and Morgause had spent the game barking out terse instructions and orders to the Stanford Hill team, as though they could hear her all the way on the pitch.

I, too, found myself getting swept up in the pace and excitement of the game, cheering loudly when our team scored or executed a flawless tackle, and groaning deeply when a brutish-looking Mercian striker had put one in the net. My eyes bounced around the pitch like pinballs, shamelessly alternating between admiring Lancelot's easy grace and Arthur's ruthless maneuvers, unable to stay fixed in place even for a moment.

My breath caught in my throat as the brutish Mercian striker suddenly slammed bodily into Lancelot as he intercepted a pass to him, feeling bile rise in my throat as the beautiful Hispanic boy crumpled at his feet. Even Morgana went silent, eyes wide as she gripped my hand tightly with what felt like enough force to shatter the cancer-frail bones. I barely registered the pain; my eyes were glued on Lancelot's body on the floor, surrounded by burly football players from both teams.

The school nurse was feeling along the bones in his ankle as Arthur and Percival held back a seething Gwaine from the offending Mercian player. For a heart-stopping moment, the entire stadium went silent as every spectator held their breath, watching intently as Arthur pulled Lancelot slowly to his feet, before descending into an almighty roar when he kicked out his legs a little, jogging gingerly back into place.

I beamed at him, exhilarated, bold in the knowledge that he could not see me. That was just Lancelot in a nutshell, really- never complaining and always the last to lose his dignity.

"I see why you're so smitten," Morgana nudged me playfully, relief coating her features. I nudged her back, laughing even as my eyes automatically slid back to focus on Arthur.

* * *

"You were _**amazing**_!" Arthur's smile was wide and dazzling as he caught Morgana in his arms and swung her around in a circle, elated. "Like when that absolute bellend of a defender tried all those dirty little tackles and you just completely destroyed him anyway? _**Brilliant**_, bloody brilliant!"

"Tackling a player isn't cheating, Morgana," his gaze was warm and fond even as his cheeks pinked slightly (in a way that was not _**at all**_ adorable) under her fervent praise. "But I appreciate you trying. Did you see the way Geraint handled that mid-fielder, though? He was so _**quick**_, it was fantastic-"

I watched silently as he continued describing his team member's golden moments of the game. he'd never looked as gorgeous as he did now, with pride colouring his voice and a smile radiant enough to make the sun look like an LED light bulb pulling firmly at his lips.

He broke off, suddenly, as his eyes locked on me. "Gwen! I didn't think you'd come."

I moved closer, smiling shyly, painfully aware of Morgana excusing herself to go and congratulate Gwaine and Elyan nearby. "Of course i came-it's all you've been harping on about for the last few weeks."

"Hey! I do not _**harp**_."

"_**Please**_, you so do. You might as well be made up of polished oak wood and finely tuned strings the way you've been going on and on and _**on**_."

I waited patiently for him to laugh at my ingenious wit.

Sadly, my waiting appeared to be in vain as he proceed to clap his hand over his forehead.

"Oh my god," His groan was impressively theatrical. "Insulting me via terrible jokes- I knew you and Morgana hanging out so much was a bad idea."

"Jealousy is very unbecoming, even on _**you**_, Arthur." Somewhere in the back of my mind I was aware that I was _**flirting,**_and with Arthur-_**bloody**_-Pendragon no less. When had _**this** _become my life?

"Everything's becoming on me, Gwen. Let's not tell lies now." He smirked down at me, the arrogant expression on his face smoothing out into something softer, more intimate. "Not as becoming as the team's colour is on you, though."

He stretched out a hand to touch the red bandanna I'd donned as a sign of support and in a lightning-fast moment awareness slammed back into me, making me jump back jerkily to avoid his touch. I'd forgotten myself in our easy exchange- I wasn't a normal, pretty girl who could flirt with someone like _**Arthur.** _I was an ex-_**cancer** **patient,**_with no hair and that was why I was wearing a bloody bandanna in the first place. How could someone as deformed as me- me with my my medical scars, and my illness-frail body and my ugly, bald head- expect a place at his side?

"Congratulations on the win, Arthur," I winced at the formality in my tone, steadfastly avoiding his baffled-and was that hurt?- eyes. "I have to go, um-"

"Gwenny!"

I'd never in my life been so grateful to see my brother's messy hair and goofy smile. "Hi, Merlin."

"Did you see me? Wasn't I _**sensational**_?"

"Merlin, you idiot, you were only on the pitch for about a minute before that guy crunched you and you had to be substituted." I reminded him fondly, trying unsuccessfully to hide my smile.

"Ah but what a _**spectacular**_ minute it was, Gwen!" He wagged his finger at me reprovingly before turning to Arthur with a mock-beseeching expression. "Isn't that right oh-Great-and-Glorious-Captain o' mine?"

"It was certainly...well," Arthur cast around for the right word. "Something."

The laughter bubbled out of me as I took in Merlin's ridiculously pleased expression. Arthur's eyes snapped to meet mine sheepishly and I offered him a reassuring smile, trying to make up for my previous abruptness.

Morgana slipped in beside me as another booming voice entered the frey: "Merlin, my boy!"

I looked up, surprised, at the sound of my dad's voice. He strode in happily to our circle, clever eyes sparkling as ever.

"Dad! I thought you were meant to be at work?" Merlin hugged him easily, unashamed in his affection for him. Merlin was probably one of the most tactile people I knew, always the first to initiate a hug or drop a kiss on a cheek, and my heart ached whenever I thought of the reason for it.

"What-and miss the first chance I've ever had to see my son actually do something _**athletic**_? That kind of comedy gold just doesn't come around very often, I had to experience it while I had the chance."

"Hey!" Merlin protested indignantly. "Need I remind everyone, _**once again**_, that I don't take a break in the art block when I walk up to Chemistry? Yeah, that's right, this guy right here."

His gaze fell on Morgana as she giggled softly and a shared look of something that I couldn't quite decipher passed between them.

Huh.

_**Interesting**_.

"He was only on for one minute, Dad, come on now. He's hardly David Beckham."

"Ah but what a spectacular minute it was, Gwen!" He swooped down to kiss my cheek while Merlin shot me a smug smile. "Now introduce me to your friends, you little brats. Ah, young man," this he addressed to Arthur. "Now you, you really were _**spectacular**_."

Morgana and Arthur were polite throughout, if a little reserved, looking strangely relieved when Merlin and Dad began an excited discussion of the game between themselves, shifting the attention off them.

An odd, almost longing expression crossed Arthur's face fleetingly as he watched them interact before it quickly twisted into a smooth smile which he turned to direct at a pretty blonde beside him. My stomach flipped as I watched them laugh and flirt easily for a few minutes before he caught her hand and pulled her out of the room, suggestiveness lacing his every move.

Beside me, Morgana was uncharacteristically silent as frustrating insecurity flooded me once again. She gently placed a hand on my shoulder. "Don't worry about it, it's just something he needs to do sometimes. It doesn't mean anything."

I refused to think about _**why**_ she felt the need to reassure me about Arthur hooking up with some random girl.

Despite her blase words, I could see the worry lining her face, coupled with a curious type of resignation. God, why were these two _**always**_ shrouded in secrecy?

Ignoring the itching need for answers, I returned her smile weakly, allowing her to lead me out of the room.

* * *

Five hours of later, all thoughts of Arthur with gorgeous girls had evacuated my mind completely as I leaned on Morgana blindly for support, clutching my stomach, tears streaming down my face through my laughter.

After a celebratory dinner with the rest of the team and Arthur and Morgana's group of friends (during which I blushingly congratulated Lancelot on carrying on despite his injury while he smiled down at me benevolently), Arthur had insisted on a trip to the local pub to "really make this celebration official." Consequently, Morgana, Mithian, Morgause, Merlin, Lancelot and I had obediently traipsed after him there, where he proceeded to valiantly dip as many drinks into everyone's mouths as possible, charming the flustered barmaid into believing him to be over 18 and worthy of _**way**_ too much free shit. Despite the fact that Merlin and Lancelot were both 18 and could easily get the drinks themselves, they did nothing to stop him, instead sharing amused smiles with each other and sighing condescendingly over the "adorable egos and pastimes of the youth."

Mithian, Morgause and Lancelot had all begged off early (Mithian and Morgause because their parents were expecting them and Lancelot because he volunteered at the local animal shelter every morning, cue my heart melting just a little bit more, and didn't want to be hungover for it). This meant that only Arthur and Merlin were left to down the copious amounts of alcohol (Morgana and I had politely refused anything alcoholic all night), which in turn led us to this point, watching in unapologetic delight as Arthur and Merlin- who were absolutely _**hammered**_\- drunkenly stumbled around on the stage wailing love songs to each other on the karaoke machine and generally making complete fools of themselves.

Morgana had already taken several videos while I watched intently, determined not to forget a single second so that I could rib Merlin about it until the Second Coming of Jesus.

"You're the one that I want!" Arthur crooned, tripping over his own feet and happily snuggling up to Merlin's leg instead of trying to get up. "_**O-oo-oo-**_ honey,"

"The one that I want," Merlin wailed back earnestly as Arthur attempted to add the backing vocals while simultaneously slobbering all over merlin's jeans. "_**O-oo-oo**_ honey!"

"The one that I _**neeeeeed**_," Merlin clumsily brought Arthur to his feet so that they could both howl "_**OH YES INDEEEED,**_" together.

I reached down to hoist Morgana, who'd fallen off her chair with laughter, up, cackling at the boys's drunkenly sincere expressions.

They finished the song to tipsily hearty round of applause. Merlin, in turn, responded to this by smiling dumbly and proceeding to enthusiastically unbutton his shirt with fumbling fingers.

"Woah, wait, is he trying to _**strip**_?" Morgana asked, blinking rapidly.

"Crap, crap, crap," I scrambled quickly off my seat, rushing to drag Merlin off the stage before he got us thrown out for indecent exposure, leaving Arthur behind to lovingly blow kisses at the people still applauding. "He only gets naked when he's _**really** _plastered," I explained to an amused Morgana. "it's a sure he's reached his limit and needs to go home."

"Noooooooo," Arthur groaned, wrapping his arms around my intoxicated brother clumsily, like a stubborn child. "_**Can't** _go home, Merlin my _**favourite**_."

"You're my favourite too, Arthur!" Merlin replied ecstatically. "But I feel sleeeepy."

I slapped his hands away from his chest, where they were again trying to valiantly unbutton his shirt. "Enough of that, Sandy, you're going home."

Arthur pouted at me. I refused to acknowledge how adorably stupid it was.

"But the _**people**_, Gwen!" He gestured wildly around the pub. "The _**fans**_. They need us!"

"They'll just have to make do, I'm afraid." I patted his shoulder, trying for sympathy, starting when he grabbed my wrist and looked up at me, a sloppy grin on his face.

"Okay. He can only go if _**you** _stay with me."

Even drunk out of his mind, he was still Arthur Pendragon-his tone was as self-assured and demanding as ever. I turned to share a knowing smile with Morgana but she was frowning at me quizzically, and the smile died on my lips.

"You should stay with John Travolta, Gwen." Her expression cleared. "I'll make sure that the best of the Pink Ladies gets home."

Merlin's chest puffed out proudly at being called the "best" Pink Lady, even as he drooled all over Arthur's shoulder.

"Are you sure? You're not gonna just use this to take advantage of him and use him like a dog in heat, right?"

"I like dogs," Merlin announced to no one in particular.

"_**Please**_, Gwen," Morgana jumped off her stool, rolling her eyes at me. "I'm not some over-horny frat boy trying to have my wicked way with your brother. I just appreciate that Arthur's much more likely to calm down if he's got a pretty face here to sober up for." She winked at me audaciously before drawing me into a tight hug. "Don't let him go home drunk, though, his mum will slaughter him."

"And don't let that one get naked, please," I begged, gesturing to Merlin. The last thing we needed was a repeat of uncle Tristan and Aunt Isolde's wedding in 2011.

She gently began to usher a confused Merlin towards the door. "Let's go, Sandy."

"Sandy? like a beach? Hehe, beach sounds like _**bitch**_. WAIT, did you just call me a BITCH?! That is so _**ruuuude**_..."

I turned back to Arthur when I could no longer hear Merlin's indignant voice, momentarily startled by how warm and open the smile he was gifting me was.

"Hi," he stated, pushing his drink away from him.

"Hi," I murmured, feeling my face heat up. The mood had shifted now that Morgana and Merlin were no longer present. It was quieter now, less rowdy, more intimate.

"Are you okay? Do you need a drink of water or something? Because I can-"

My mouth snapped shut as Arthur shifted closer, placing a deliberate hand on my arm and branding it through the fabric of my jumper with his warmth.

"You're so pretty, Gwen," he said quietly, eyes dropping to my mouth. "So **_bloody_ **pretty."

"Um o-okay," I stuttered, my heart beating frantically in my chest. He was only drunk, he wasn't thinking straight, he couldn't-?

I waited for him to say more, to _**explain** _himself, holding my breath as he opened his mouth and-

-promptly threw up into my lap.

"Oh boy," i told the top of his limp head which was hanging over my lap, sadly. "I am so screwed."


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: [Calls into the abyss] Hellooooo. Remember this ole girl? I know it's been a disastrously long time since I last updated but, long story short, my computer died and all my notes and shit were destroyed so I was feeling kind of disheartened and didn't really want to continue writing. ****However, it would seem that didn't last because here we are with a new chapter :). Thank you to all the people who followed, favourited and reviewed.**

**Recap: Morgana and Gwen have become fast friends. Gwen has joined Morgana on the school paper, writing fashion articles, and is now integrating well into the school. In the last chapter, Arthur and his team won their first football match, leading to drunken, celebratory shenanigans with Merlin which Gwen and Morgana essentially laughed at and then had to take care of. Oh, and Arthur nearly kissed Gwen. But then he threw up in her lap. So, yeah. Enjoy!**

_Frustration:_

_Futility is both hypocrisy's heir and predecessor_

_and sometimes,_

_I can't decide which I hate more;_

_The Chicken or The Egg._

_The Egg, at least, is _

_solitary, unmoving, frozen in stillness:_

_The Calm before The Storm_

_The Storm, however, wreaks havoc_

_Rages everywhere_

_Infects everything around it_

_Leaving destruction in its wake._

_And always frustration_

_Frustration, frustration, frustration._

I stared at the last line for a beat longer than necessary and released a breath I hadn't even known I'd been holding into one long bellow: "_**Leeeeooooon**_!"

Ignoring the copious amount of startled looks and alarmed expressions being directed at me, I moved blindly into the ICT room, eyes still fixed on the last line as though they'd been superglued in place. "_**Leeeeooooon.**_" I stormed up to the front desk, dragging my eyes from the paper clutched tightly between my fingers to the tall boy sitting behind it, regarding me with a calm, albeit slightly exasperated expression. "_**Leeeeooooon**_!"

"There's no need to screech my name like a medieval market stall owner, Morgana, I'm right in front of you." The exasperation was more evident in his voice. "Do try and exercise a little decorum if it's not _too_ much to-"

"Yeah, yeah, okay, decorum, fantastic," I interrupted hastily, eye on the prize. "My favourite noun. More importantly, though, I need you to stop holding out on me." I shoved the school paper in front of his face, forcefully stilling my shaking hand as I pointed to the short poem at the top of the page. "Your whole little anonymous tortured poet thing? It ends now. I need to know who writes the poems."

Leon, like the absolute tosser he was, proceeded to meticulously iron out the creases in the paper that my tight grasp had caused, moving a thumb and forefinger carefully over each one while I practically vibrated with impatience in front of him. When the paper had finally been restored to a state he deemed fit, he looked up at me, smiling serenely. "I'm sorry Morgana but I can't disclose to you information of this sensitivity. You can ask as much as you want but that will always be the case. Just like it has been for the last year."

"_Sensitive information?_" I repeated incredulously. "For God's sake, Leon, it's the name of someone who writes a couple of lines for a secondary school paper, not the whereabouts of Al Qaeda! It's only me, you _know_ I won't tell anyone."

"I'm not one of your adoring fans you can just wheedle information out of every time you snap your fingers, Morgana. The answer is no."

"But Leon, pleeeease?"

"No."

"Please, please, please, plea-"

"No."

"-se, please, please, plea-"

"_No_."

"-se, please, _please_-"

"Why do you even care so much?" Leon's light eyes flashed at me, seemingly out of patience now.

"Because I-"

_Because it feels like everything they write, I live._

_Because, in a sparse amount of lines, this writer describes every messed up emotion I've ever felt in a way I never can._

_Because nothing, no book, no article, no person has ever reached so deeply within me as these lines do month after month._

"No reason," I stated quietly, averting my eyes. "Just curious, is all."

"Well take your curiosity elsewhere. This poet's staying anonymous and that's final."

Sticking two half hearted fingers up at his back as I reluctantly walked away only made me feel minimally better.

"Hey Gwen, hey JP," I greeted the two at the computers, still feeling out of sorts. "What's up?" They both looked up and smiled at me as I plonked my bum into the seat next to Gwen's.

"Just finishing up a piece," she replied, indicating a beautiful display of coats on the computer.

"Gwen, the paper just came out this morning-you're telling me you've nearly finished next month's section already?"

"I just couldn't wait to get started," she gushed at me excitedly, smile wide on her face. "If you thought autumn's looks were good, get ready to have your head explode when you see Winter's. Trench coats have finally gone out, good bloody _riddance_, do you know how exciting that is?!"

"And that's my cue," JP got up and ambled away with a quick wave, which Gwen didn't even register as she continued to inform me exactly why the return of quilted, waterproof jackets was such a "glorious step for this nation, and indeed- mankind." I tuned her out, praying that I was nodding and making agreeing-type sounds in all the right places but instead marvelling over just how far my friend had come since she'd started at Stanford Hill almost two months ago. She was still relatively quiet in large groups and never initiated conversations with people she didn't know, but there was a colour to her cheeks and a sparkle in her eye that had been absent when she'd first arrived. People in our year no longer knew her as "the cancer girl" but rather as the girl whose clothes were always on point, who wrote funny fashion articles in an otherwise very serious school newspaper and who always had a gentle smile for everyone. She was top of the class in art, history and all the languages (she spoke French fluently), despised maths and science and tolerated English. She had slotted into my group of friends almost seamlessly, as well as the school paper team, with only Morgause staying relatively aloof (but, to be fair, Morgause had once broken the nose of a girl who had "smiled at her for too long" so this was really a best case scenario). Even Arthur had developed a bit of a soft spot for her of which, to my immense frustration, I could deduce neither the nature nor the extent.

Most surprisingly of all-at least to me- she had, without my noticing, even taken a piece of my own heart and stamped her name firmly onto it. You see, I enjoyed hanging out with the squad like nothing else, loved Mithian and Morgause like they were my own sisters and adored Arthur like he was an extension of my own very flesh. Despite all this, it was Gwen, Gwen who I'd known only a few short months, who understood me so absolutely-even the parts of me she didn't know about. It was downright dangerous how comfortable I felt with her, how close I would come to baring every shameful secret I'd ever hidden whenever we were chilling in her room, or studying in the library, or dicking around in the park and she turned her knowing eyes on me.

It hit me suddenly, as I watched her gesture enthusiastically at the computer screen, that everything I'd ever built up to protect myself, my father and my mother's memory, had never come so close to being destroyed as it did now.

* * *

The Friday after the football match was an inset day, and after a nine hour shift I'd picked up at the bookstore I made my way sluggishly to Arthur's house, wrapping my jacket tighter around me to ward off the slight chill. He opened the door for me, grumbling something about "stupid Geography tests and irrelevant rivers no one gives a damn about" and I made us some sandwiches to eat for dinner while he flipped furiously through his ridiculously neat Geography notes and banged his head several times on the kitchen table.

"By the way," he grunted, the words muffled by the giant bite of sandwich he'd just taken. "Mum wants the grass to be mown and the beds to be weeded before she gets back."

"That's nice," I answered pleasantly, reaching for the last chicken.

"I'm glad you think so. You're helping me."

"I am _not_-it's freezing out there! And it's going to be _dark_ in a couple of hours."

"Then I guess we'd better crack on," grinning at me cheerfully, he dumped the empty plate in the skink and steered me firmly towards the back door.

"Who even gives a shit about their garden after August?" I grumbled, grimacing at the slap of cold air as I stepped outside. "No one goes outside in winter, it's not like anyone's going to see it."

"1. It's October, it's still technically Autumn and 2. This is probably my fault," he called out, fumbling with the keys to the garden shed. "She's still mildly ticked off at me coming home so late after the game."

"In that case you should get your new bestie Merlin to help you garden," I teased, helping him drag out the heavy lawnmower. "He is, after all, the one you got completely trashed with, not little ole me."

"We weren't even that drunk," Arthur said defensively, turning away from me to plug in the old machine.

"You put your hand on his face and insisted that he'd cut you with his 'cheek knives' for about twenty minutes."

"I did _not_ and even if I _did_-"

"You're the one that I want," I crooned, looking up at the sky innocently.

"No, no, no, shut up, no-"

"Oo-oo-ooo honey-"

"Piss off!"

"-the one that I want." I danced goofily in a circle around him, resolutely singing over his protests, a wide smile pulling at my lips.

"Okay goodbye now you pest," and with that he switched on the lawnmower, effectively drowning me out with its loud hum.

Laughing happily, I donned a pair of gardening gloves and got to work on one of Katy's beds, carefully pulling out all of the stubborn weeds. Soon, however, consciousness crept through the noise from the lawnmower and the mind numbing manual labour, and my mind wandered to the place it always returned to no matter how hard I tried to avoid it: Uther. My father had yet to say more than a handful of words to me since he'd cried out my mother's name in a pile of his own vomit, and he and Catrina had taken to spending nearly every night at her place. The blameful stares and heavy silences were almost _worse_ than the harsh words I was more accustomed to being directed my way and while I was usually cowardly relieved whenever Uther was absent, all the solitary, deadly quiet nights in the cold and empty house were beginning to drive me crazy. The whispered prayer of "you took her from me, you _took_ her from me," haunted me while I lay awake every night, trying to force my body into slumber, and I could hear it now as I knelt, knees muddy, scratching at my ears in one of the Pendragon flower beds in a fruitless attempt to make the intangible attack stop.

A sudden silence in the garden distracted me from my thoughts. I looked around, confused, only to realise that the lawnmower had been switched off and that Arthur was leaning on it, talking to _Merlin_ of all people.

"Not now," I groaned quietly to myself, cursing my luck. Merlin, and his bloody stupid inquisitive eyes, was the last person I wanted to see right now. While it was true that his sister constantly brought me to the brink of splurging my soul, Gwen was still _Gwen_\- harmless, well-meaning, kind Gwen who made me laugh and always split her fruit bar with me at break time when she saw I didn't have anything. Merlin, on the other hand, was definitely searching for _something_. I could see it in his eyes when he thought I wasn't paying attention: an expression which instantly triggered my fight or flight response and made me exponentially uncomfortable in his presence. I didn't know what exactly he was looking for, but after our disastrous first encounter in the bookshop I was pretty fucking sure I didn't want him to find it.

I could feel his probing eyes on me now, so I blindly reached for a broom, raking it through the mud and hoping furiously that he would not come over.

"Hi."

I closed my eyes, briefly. _Bollocks_.

"Hello," I returned neutrally, wishing Arthur hadn't turned on the lawnmower again.

"What are you doing?"

"Gardening." I answered shortly, trying to think of an exit strategy.

"With a _broom_?"

"It's an emerging pastime." Despite myself, I turned towards him slightly.

"I'll be sure to include it in my twitter bio, then."

My nose wrinkled without my permission- which of course didn't escape him.

"You're not a fan of twitter?'

I thought briefly of the old battered lap top in my room that barely got me through homework, and then of my father's empty eyes. " I just don't think anyone would be interested in what I have to say."

_Worthless_, _worthless_, _worthless_, Uther's voice chanted softly in my ear.

"Oh I doubt that," he smiled down at me warmly. I quickly removed my jacket, suddenly feeling heat clawing at my skin, glad that I could blame it on the exertion. "Everyone from year 7 to 11 would be interested. Probably half of sixth form too."

_Worthless_, _worthless_, _worthless._

_"_I know I'd be."

_Worthless, worth-_

The mantra stuttered to a halt as I peered at him- flabbergasted over something as unimportant, as unremarkable as _twitter_ for goodness' sake. "Huh?"

"You're difficult to pin down," he offered as an explanation, shoulders shrugging casually.

My mouth went dry at the thought of being _pinned down_ by Merlin Ambrose and-

"So, do you want some help?"

Even as I quickly went to say "No, thank you, that's okay-" he'd already picked up a broom, grinning at me sweetly.

"You weed, I'll sweep it up."

Oh this was bad. This was very, very bad. Granted, Arthur was here so we weren't technically alone, but the loud drone of the lawnmower had enclosed us in our own private bubble. A bubble which needed to be popped immediately. I desperately fumbled for my phone with muddy fingers, typing out a quick text to Gwen.

_How do you feel about gardening?_

The answer vibrated through seconds later.

_It would take too long to type out the appropriate amount of "e"s to express my "eeeeew" satisfactorily._

Dammit. Drastic measures_._

_Okay, how do you feel about gardening with a certain blonde footballer, in whom you don't see to register lies a multitude of flaws?_

A few seconds and then thankfully-

_Text me the directions. _

I breathed a sigh of relief.

* * *

Nineteen excruiciating minutes later Gwen texted to say that she had arrived and I rushed to the door to let her in, hugging her tightly just to see her squawk at all the mud I was getting on her clothes. "This is gardening, sweetheart, there's going to be a whole lot more where that came from," I led her to the garden, grinning at her wrinkled expression.

"We'll see about that," she stated mock-primly, nose high in the air and looking oddly queen-like. She stopped short suddenly, eyes wide, and I followed her gaze to where Arthur had stripped off his shirt, looking tired and frustrated with the old lawnmower. Gwen nearly drooled on the spot. It would have been amusing if it hadn't been so _gross_.

"He's not even that fit, Gwen." I sighed long sufferingly at my transfixed friend.

No response.

"Your _brother's_ here, man, snap out of it!"

That at last got her attention, and she swiftly changed track and followed me to Merlin with slightly reddened cheeks, shyly returning Arthur's wave.

"Gwenny! What are you doing here?" Merlin asked, eyes boring into mine.

"I'm here to garden," she informed him happily.

He snapped his eyes to hers. "What-_no_. It's too strenuous. Absolutely not."

"Calm down, Merlin." She settled down onto the bed, cheerfully picking up my spade. "I'm pulling out weeds, not running the London marathon. I'll be fine."

"You shouldn't be putting strain on your body, you know that." His voice was low, saturated with worry and I remembered that Gwen being in remission didn't mean she was cancer-free. It was easy to overlook the lack of hair on her head and subtle frailty when she laughed animatedly or talked about a painting with shining eyes but, suddenly, the minuscule circle of caramel skin exposed by the bandana at the back of her head was all I could focus on.

"I'm fine, Merlin, honestly," her voice coloured slightly with embarrassment. "If I get tired, I'll just go inside."

* * *

We called it a day one hour later and traipsed back inside, groaning as we sunk into the cushions of the two worn sofas in Arthur's living room. I swung my feet up to rest in Gwen's lap with a dramatic sigh. "I don't think I'll ever be able to walk again."

"We were only out there for a couple of hours, princess." Arthur called out from the kitchen, the only one in our weird ensemble who wasn't exhausted. "This is why Morgause is always bitching at you to do more sport." He came back into the room balancing a tray of drinks. "Maybe then you wouldn't have the physical stamina of a _hamster_."

"Morgause can lick my arse," I muttered, downing half a glass of water in one gulp. "How are you holding up, gorgeous?" I kicked at Gwen's leg lightly, trying to hide the worry in my tone. Her breathing was slightly laboured, and slumped back against the sofa she looked pale and tired. Merlin hadn't taken his eyes off her once since we'd walked in.

"I'm fine," she smiled brightly at us all, opening her eyes and accepting a glass from Arthur with a murmured "thanks."

"My boots on the other hand," she gazed down at her mud-covered shoes mournfully, a look of genuine desolation on her face. "You were too good for this world, anyway," she told them sadly, stroking the side of one.

"The scary thing is I think you actually mean that," I said, watching in fascination.

"Hush, cretin. This whole 'I don't care about fashion' thing would be way more believable if the whole reason we'd met in the first place hadn't been because of a pair of shoes." She nudged me playfully and I tried to smile back through the bittersweet feeling filling my stomach. I wanted to explain that it was _different_, the Lauren Taylors had been _different_, they'd been _her_ shoes, they meant _more_\- but I couldn't force the words out of my suddenly dry throat.

"Speaking of, how is that whole fashion article thingy going, Gwen?" Not for the first time in my life, I was grateful for Arthur's lack of perceptiveness. He'd unknowingly taken the pressure off me as Gwen turned to him with a smile.

"It's going well, thank you." I snorted at her unfailing polite tone, catching Merlin's amused gaze quickly before dropping my eyes. I'd already established that too much eye contact with that motherfucker was dangerous. "I'm just finishing up a piece on winter coats."

"Oh, thats-um," my eyes snapped to Arthur and I felt my jaw drop at his colouring cheeks and apparent inability to look directly at Gwen. Was Arthur- was he actually _flustered_? "Really relevant right now," he finally settled on, looking like he wanted the ground to swallow him whole. "You know, cos coats are important for Winter. And it's so...cold now."

"I thought you said October wasn't classified as Winter?" I asked sweetly, cackling gleefully at the not-so-discreet middle finger he directed my way as a response.

He turned back to Gwen, recovering his usual confidence, and smiled at her winningly. "Come and tell me about it while I clean the kitchen this-how did you put it, cretin?- this cretin so kindly made a mess of earlier."

"Bloody _cheek_\- see if i ever make you food again! Next time you can just _starve_."

"A couple of mediocre sandwiches is hardly a gourmet meal-" he ducked out of the room to avoid the pillow I'd launched at him, dragging a blushing Gwen along in his wake.

And then there were two.

An awkward silence descended upon the room as I steadfastly tried to look anywhere that wasn't a pale and gorgeous teenage boy, listening to the different timbers of voice seep through from the kitchen. My resolve, however, didn't last long and soon my eyes slid over to him. To my surprise, he wasn't looking at me at all but was staring at the door through which Gwen and Arthur had just left, a deep frown marring his face.

"You don't have to look so worried," I said without really knowing why. "They're just friends."

"He has a reputation," Merlin replied simply without removing his gaze from the door.

Indignation bubbled up in my chest. "Well _maybe_ you shouldn't believe everything you hear," I snapped angrily, although, to be fair, he did have a point-Arthur had slept through his fair share of girls. Still, that didn't give him the right to think _less_ of Arthur.

Merlin's eyes met mine, an expression of genuine surprise in them. "I didn't mean that as an insult or belittlement of his character, Morgana. Sex is just sex-it doesn't make someone a bad person. I just don't think it's what Gwen wants right now."

"Oh," I mumbled, feeling wrong-footed and still slightly defensive. "Well I think that's up to Gwen to decide."

"Indeed," he agreed easily, staring at the door again.

"Arthur only shags girls he doesn't hold any emotional commitment to," I blurted out, inwardly chastising myself. I was getting way too close to saying things I know Arthur didn't want people to be aware of. "So Gwen should be fine. Arthur cares about her."

He looked back at me and nodded, slightly mollified. "I never did thank you for last week, by the way."

"Huh?" I asked, confused by the sudden change in topic.

"For getting my drunk arse home safely. I know I must've been a pain."

"Oh, it was nothing," I flapped my hands at him nervously. "You were no trouble at all."

"You're a terrible liar," he turned the full force of his blinding grin on me. I had to blink a few times to regain my bearings.

"Okay, so there _may_ have been a little climbing a lamp post incident, and there _may_ have been a _bit_ of an altercation with a cat-also is it really so hard for you to keep your clothes _on_ when you're drunk?- but apart from that you were a bundle of joy, I promise."

He shrugged his shoulders, his smile playful and boyish and utterly disarming. The answering smile on my face died, and I clamped down on the giddiness threatening to rise in my chest. It could never happen-Merlin and I, this confident, beautiful, _whole_ boy and I could never be. Letting my guard down and being overly-friendly with him would only serve to torture me in the long run.

"You don't like me." He stated suddenly.

"W-what?"

"You're friendly with everyone else, even strangers. Last week in the canteen you sat down with a bunch of year 7s because they looked nervous and chatted to them for the whole hour. But you can't even stomach being in my presence for long, let alone have a conversation with me, why?"

"That's not true-"

"Come on Morgana," he said softly. He didn't look offended or hurt, only curious as he met my eyes thoughtfully. "Don't lie to me."

I stopped, speechless, with no idea of how to respond, how to explain without telling the outright truth. "I-"

Gwen barged into the room then, looking confused and slightly dazed, asking Merlin to take her home. He agreed readily, not looking at me as she hugged Arthur and I goodbye before leading her out of the house with a pat on Arthur's back. He didn't look at me again until he stopped just outside his car door to give me one last searching stare that burned through me like a laser, making me feel more vulnerable and naked than I had in a while.

I slammed the door firmly shut against the onslaught of his blue eyes, breathing heavily and trying not to think about just how screwed I was.

**A/N: Thanks for reading! Next chapter contains a school dance and some MorganaxGwen bonding time, including both girls opening up about some secrets. Feel free to let me know what you thought about this chapter x**


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: Hey guys! Shorter chapter here, and it's almost 100% Gwen/Morgana interaction because I'm a sucker for female friendship development. Thank you to everyone who has favourited, reviewed and followed since the last chapter, it's been very much appreciated and a huuuuuge thanks to everyone who gave my new story, Burn Brighter, a go even though it's clear I have a bit of a problem when it comes to updating my stories. **

**Gwen:**

"Ok, 5 things you hate most in the world, go."

"Ignorance, running, traffic, lack of justice and unflavoured rice." Morgana answered promptly, bent over a textbook on the floor of my bedroom.

"I really hope that wasn't in order of importance," I answered, smiling at her response.

"Unflavoured rice is the Judas Iscariot-level betrayal of the culinary world." she insisted, adding in a faux-snooty voice, "only those of us with true nutritional expertise understand, you see."

"Um, yesterday you congratulated yourself on meeting your 5-a day because you had 5 blueberry flavoured ice lollies."

"That's neither here nor there." She waved a dismissive hand at me. "Why are we even playing this game, anyway? It's meant to be something you do when you don't know someone, not when you've been living on each other's laps for three months."

"Because if I have to look at these quadratic graphs for even a second longer I may gorge my own eyes out with a spoon." I groaned, vaguely registering that somewhere along the way I had picked up Morgana's habit of over-the-top statements. "And as my friend, it is your job to allow me to be nosy about you to protect my eyes from their impending doom. Life is hard without vision, you know."

"I thought you were finding Maths easier since _Arthur_ started helping you out?" I steadfastly ignored the teasing way she rolled her tongue around Arthur's name. It had been nearly two months since I had stood in this kitchen, trying not to hyperventilate as he flirted and teased at me. I had been on the verge of gathering up enough courage to flirt back when I'd suddenly seen a figure appear in the garden through his window, bringing with it that same feeling of apprehension and being watched that had been plaguing me for weeks. I'd blinked, terrified, and the figure had disappeared, leaving me to wonder if I had again been imagining things, but the damage had already been done. I'd been too shaken to stay in the house any longer and had burst out of the kitchen, demanding Merlin take me home, heedless of Arthur's bewildered expression. Since then he'd cooled down on the flirting, presumably because he thought me uninterested- or maybe he'd just lost interest, I thought, feeling a sharp pang at the idea- and had treated me as nothing more than a friend and Maths student.

"I have," I admitted. "But I gave him the week off last week when the Knights drew with Northumbria."

"Say no more," Morgana replied, probably also remembering the level of intensity Arthur had been vibrating with at the end of the game, as though it was his fault and his alone that the team hadn't won. "In that case, I shall humour you because I too will cause myself irreparable harm if I have to study any more for these end of term tests."

"You're a true friend."

"Hmm, what to ask, what to ask," Morgana hesitated, looking at me nervously. "Why are you still wearing a bandanna if you're out of chemo?"

My hands instinctively went to the fabric on my head, feeling vulnerable. I wanted to laugh the question off or avoid the topic- we barely ever spoke about the cancer, and I liked it that way. I liked being around someone who didn't see me as nothing more than a terrible illness. But Morgana was my friend- my best friend, really- and it hadn't escaped my notice how secretive she was about her own life.

In the last few days, it had finally hit me, the something about her that was strange, that I couldn't put my finger on. Morgana was smart, beautiful, popular- a recipe for success and the perfect lifestyle but there was an inexplicable dullness in her eyes sometimes that was overwhelming, an energy about her that was broken and unapproachable. When everyone spoke about the future, she never seemed to have any input or ideas about what she wanted from it. She clammed up whenever her family was mentioned in anything more than passing and she was always quick to turn conversations away from herself in a way that was too charming to notice unless you _really_ looked for it. And while I respected that she was entitled to her privacy, and God knows there were some parts of _my_ life that I never wanted to discuss in a million years, I resented the unhappiness it brought her. Over the last few months, Morgana had quickly become an important fixture in my life, and so with a deep breath I decided to answer her question, hoping it would, in turn, stimulate some opening up from her end.

"With the kind of leukaemia I have," I swallowed, struggling against the discomfort threatening to choke me. "It's pretty unlikely to relapse after five years of remission. Doctors consider you pretty much 'cured'."

"How long have you been in remission?" Morgana asked softly.

"Coming up to two years now," I said, relaxing minutely. "But I've...relapsed before. I never want...to get my hopes up and then crushed like that again." I stopped, unable to continue suddenly from the memory of being 12 and being told that they were very, very sorry but I had to leave school again, I had to come back to hospital and repeat the whole process again because they'd tried, they'd really tried but sometimes these things just _can't be helped_. "Call it superstition or whatever but even though my hair's grown back a little, I can't take the bandanna off again unless I know-unless I completely and utterly know _for sure_\- that I'll never have to put it back on."

I looked at the ceiling, breathing hard, not wanting to look over and see confusion, amusement- or worse, _pity_\- on the face of someone whose opinion I'd come to care about.

The bed dipped under her weight as she came to sit next me, crossing her legs. "I get it Gwen," she said, uncharacteristically serious.

"My turn!" I exclaimed abruptly, desperately wanting to change subject. "Who do you love most in the world? And if you say my brother, I'll walk out of this house and never come back."

"Oh, shut up you old hag," She grumbled, ducking to hide the redness spreading across her cheeks. She was silent for a long time, making me wish I hadn't asked the question and struck whatever nerve was keeping her still beside me. Finally, she replied quietly, "my Dad."

I started, momentarily silenced by the fact that she had mentioned a family member she was normally so tight-lipped about. "You, um, never really talk about him," I said, treading carefully.

She paused again, looking unseeingly at the large dressing table on the other side of my room. "We're all each other has left."

I wanted to question her further, ask her about her mother but I stuffed the curiosity away, already feeling like I'd pried too much. "Your turn."

A cheeky smile pulled at her mouth and I sighed inwardly, relieved that the melancholy expression had been wiped from her face. "Will you be my date to the Christmas formal?"

"I would be honoured," I answered solemnly. "But you should know I need dinner and flowers before I'll even _think_ about getting my kit off for you."

"Oh you should be so lucky," Morgana groused, flipping me off just as a knock on my door sounded.

"Come in," I called out, laughing. My dad poked his head around the door, smiling at the two of us.

"That's a whole lot of laughter for two students who have tests to revise for, don't you think?"

"We've been studying for _aaaaages_," I whined, flopping back on my bed. "I need a break, and preferably a sandwich too." I cracked one eye open, peering at him hopefully.

"Food is the greatest stimulant for brain activity, Mr Ambrose," Morgana added, like the treasure she was.

"One day I'll learn to say no to you like your mother can," Dad shook his head fondly.

"But today is not that day, thankfully." I replied, dragging Morgana down the stairs with us to the kitchen.

* * *

I woke up on Saturday feeling excited enough to dance and nervous enough to throw up. Tonight was the Christmas formal, my first school dance (I'd felt too tired to attend the Halloween one) and the only thing keeping me from bolting was the idea that Morgana and Merlin would be there to make sure I didn't make a complete fool of myself. Going towards the delicious smell wafting up from downstairs, despite not even being that hungry, I smiled as I saw my parents together in the kitchen, making breakfast. When I'd first been diagnosed, my mum had instantly given up her job as a literature professor to take care of me. It wasn't until I was much older that I'd realised how close it came to destroying the vibrant, larger-than-life person she was when she'd had to give up everything that made her _her_ and dedicated all her time and strength to making sure I didn't die. She was ruthless, my mum. There had been one point when the chemotherapy had gone disastrously wrong and all my organ systems had started to fail, plunging me into a deep coma and leaving me nothing but a shell of a human being, kept alive only through machinery and life support. The doctors had been baffled when I'd opened my eyes two weeks later, completely confused as to how my brain had recovered enough for consciousness by itself. But I knew, I knew deep in my bones that it had been nothing more than my mum's pure strength of will that had brought me back, that continued to bring me back from the brink again and again.

There had been a strain and tension in my parents' relationship when the leukaemia had been at its worst. I'd never understood the reasoning behind it-and to my shame hadn't even cared that much when all I could feel was pain and sickness and this startling surety that I was going to die- but it had been there, night after night while we all silently sat together in my hospital room. Seeing them together now, smiling at each other and laughing, acting like they had before this goddamn disease had torn our lives apart, filled me with a joy so deep I practically floated to the kitchen table to sit between them.

"Hi, honey," Mum peered at me intently and asked the same question she had every morning for the last 5 and a half years. "How are you feeling?"

"Fine, Mum."

"Ready for your big dance?" Dad asked, as he plonked a large plate of bacon and sausage and eggs down in front of me. I pushed it away, stomach churning.

"A little," I admitted.

"Don't be," he said. "I've chaperoned Merlin's dances before. They're not what they used to be, these things, I can tell you that. In my day they'd be drug fuelled nights of rebellion, with no rules and no limitations. Now they're all so prim and proper and the kids are too scared to even sneak in alcohol half the time." He rolled his eyes at the thought, exasperated.

"Thomas!" Mum reached over to push him off his stool. "Don't give our daughter any ideas, you idiot!"

"I'm not," my dad laughed from where he was sprawled out on the floor. "I'm just saying that school dances used to be a lot wilder back in the day and that Gwen has nothing to worry about." He turned to face me, leaning in conspiratorially. "Let me tell you, Gwen, I used to have this girlfriend called Ella who would wear the most _pleasing_ dresses, and-"

"Yes, dearest husband? Please _do_ continue."

He wisely back-peddled after seeing the glint in Mum's eye. That woman could be scary as fuck when she wanted to be. "Aw, don't be jealous Lis. You'll always be the best girl that ever came my way."

"And don't you forget it, " Mum grumbled, unable to keep the frown off her face as my dad started to kiss her all over her face.

"Gross," I stated, waiting for them to finish. Instead, they graduated to full on snogging in front of me. "I'm still here guys!"

No response.

"You guys are the absolute _worst_," I bitched, getting off my stool and wandering off to annoy Merlin, mumbling about being scarred for the rest of my life.

* * *

"Ok, no, real talk," Morgana said, staring wide eyed at my walk-in wardrobe. "How many clothes does one person need?"

"Artistry doesn't have a limit," I explained patiently.

"Gwen I can _move_ in this thing," she opened her arms out and glided through the space, trailing her fingers through the various articles of clothing I had meticulously organised and hung up. "How are you going to decide what to wear tonight? You've got more choice in here than the whole of H&amp;M."

"I've already picked my outfit out," I gestured towards a long, golden dress with a high neckline. It was perhaps a little glitzier than I usually had the courage to wear but it covered my frail-looking shoulders and hid my disgusting, spindle-like legs from the world, making me look almost healthy. "We're in here because I have a gift for you."

I tried for a casual tone, but my heart thundered as I handed the garment over to Morgana. I'd gathered over the months that Morgana didn't have much money to her name, but Arthur had once accidentally informed me that she was extremely proud, extremely stubborn and would not take help from anyone, growing defensive when the subject was even brought up.

"I know you don't like gifts," I immediately blathered when she didn't say anything, staring resolutely at the dark blue fabric in her hand. "But I saw this while I was out shopping and it was _gorgeous, _but completely wrong for my skin tone so I thought 'why not buy it anyway and give it to more a suitable and loving home?' because I couldn't just leave a glorious artefact like that around for any old hag to wear when I knew you would look sublime in it, so really, Morgana, this is for me, not you and-"

"Gwen," she interrupted, smiling slightly. "Shut up."

I promptly did as asked.

"It's beautiful," Morgana said, quietly, looking me steadily in the eye but giving nothing away in her carefully blank expression. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," I answered automatically, still feeling unsure.

"Good thing I shaved my legs," she remarked, rising her eyebrows at the long slit spreading out over her hands. "Seriously, Gwen, what kind of impression are you trying to make me give off?"

"As my grandma always says, if you've got it, work it."

"Your _grandma_ says that?"

"That's one of her tamer 'life lessons,'" I shuddered. "Trust me."

"Not to go against my elders, but do you have some kind cardigan? The school hall gets really drafty."

"Sure, I'll get you a wrap." I disappeared into the wardrobe, mind already conjuring up the image of the silver glittery material that would pair gorgeously with the detail on the side of her dress.

"What the fuck is a wrap?"

"Okay, no," I retreated out of the wardrobe, crossing my arms, determined to solve another piece of the puzzle. "No, no, I need an explanation."

"Elaborate, Gwenny," Morgana answered, observing my red lipstick container like a Maths problem.

"You don't get fashion, right?"

"Correct," she opened the lid, sniffing it with trepidation.

"Yet literally the first time we met, you were advocating a fashion _column_, and gushing over my boots?"

She placed the lid back on the lipstick, put it carefully on the desk and then turned to me. My mouth shut of its own accord at the barely concealed emotion simmering in her eyes, disappearing in a heartbeat into the calm expression I was seeing more and more frequently.

"My Mum was into fashion," she offered simply, voice carefully controlled. I floundered, unable to formulate a response. Arthur had told me Morgana's mum had died while giving birth to her, that the topic should be avoided at all cost, making me hesitant to continue the conversation.

"Regardless," she said, smiling at me softly. "I really do know jack all about this crap, so can you please help?"

"I thought you'd never ask," I replied, relieved, already brandishing the red lipstick like a knife.

**A/N: I know it's short and a little chopped- edged-y but I feel like that's where the characters are at now that they've surpassed the small-talk phase and are really getting to know each other's flaws and secrets. Feel free to leave a review with your thoughts.**

**Next up: party time, baby, 'cos we got ourselves a Christmas Daaaaaaaance.**

**(Real talk, I can't tell you how excited I am, I love me a good dance). **


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